Dismantle the Sun
by coffeeonthepatio
Summary: Ronald is the love of her life and with him, Hermione has two children and the third is on the way. Aleia is a wife of convenience because once, Severus almost died alone. But convenience does not seem enough for him any more when tragedy strikes.
1. Prologue

_**I do not own any of the characters that you might recognise from JK Rowling's books. In case there is a story, or more than one story like this one, I do not know it and I do not under any circumstances intend plagiarism. **_

_**xx**_

Every second Saturday of every third month for the past 20 years, the Burrow was full packed with people. Everyone worth knowing was there.

All the Weasleys, Molly, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, Ron, Ginny. All their spouses, Fleur, Audrey, Angelina, Hermione, Harry. Their children, Victoire, Dominique, Louis; Molly, Lucy; Fred, Roxanne; Rose, Hugo; James, Albus, Lily, as well as Harry Potter's godson Teddy Lupin.

Luna Scamander, with her husband Rolf and their twins Lorcan and Lysander. Neville Longbottom and his wife Hannah. Kingsley Shacklebolt. Minerva McGonagall. Rubeus Hagrid. Filius Flitwick. Pomona Sprout. Poppy Pomfrey.

And, every second Saturday of every third month for the past 19 years, all of them were surprised to see Severus Snape there. All except Minerva McGonagall. But then again, she was the one to drag him there in the first place. For the first year, he merely occupied an old armchair near the fireplace and barely spoke. He warmed considerably after a while and instead of being silent, he made typically snarky remarks, used sarcasm as his main matter of speaking and was mostly gone by the time the pudding was off the table. Still, it surprised all of the rest that he continued to come at all. And – it was a mystery who said what to made him come when he obviously did not enjoy himself at all.

Actually, it surprised them even more that after about 9 years of coming, ten after the end of the War, he brought someone with him. At age 48, everyone had thought, Severus would live and die a bachelor. But they were wrong. He still came every second Saturday of every third month but ten years after the war had ended, he didn't come alone any more but with a woman.

Molly, in a intimate womanly chat with Minerva during the first night that he brought her, described the woman as smart, busty, blonde, beautiful and a gold digger. Everyone knew Severus Snape had considerable amounts of gold in Gringotts. Everyone knew Severus Snape was a sought-after bachelor; the most eligible Wizarding bachelor in the UK. It was all in the papers.

And the woman, introduced as Aleia Stapelton, seemed just the type to the women of the group. The men, on the other hand, were enchanted by her, and more or less secretly jealous of Severus Snape. Still, neither of them believed that Aleia would be a part of their three-monthly dinners for long. Wagers were made – secretly.

And neither won the pool. Six months later, Aleia Stapelton was Aleia Snape. Not that anyone of them was present at the wedding, but Molly wasn't put off, no matter what Severus said, on giving both of them a big party. And soon, Aleia, 12 years younger than her husband, was the one who made Severus Snape go to the Burrow every second Saturday of every third month. And she still did. For the past ten years, they came together, they went home together and while it seemed not a very demonstrative marriage, or love, they seemed to fit. After every suspicion, even Molly and Minerva had to admit to this particular fact. They never argued, they always talked about Potions or Hogwarts and sometimes, they could be caught holding hands.

Not that Aleia had softened Severus Snape's biting wit and snarky, sarcastic comments but at least, he spared her. Still, it was a favourite pastime of his to make fun of the Weasley brood, especially when one of the Weasley Women were pregnant again. He kept far away from any of the children. And as such, Aleia had never could share good news of a pregnancy with the other women in the kitchen of the Burrow. And Severus Snape always sneered down at the poor fathers who had to wipe more snot from the brats' faces. And of course, there were more. To him, it seemed that every third month, there was another red-head in the Burrow, running, crawling, playing on the floor or another Weasley Woman pregnant. But luckily, only once or twice, one of those red-heads, or maybe it was one of those obnoxious twins of Luna Lovegood, had tried to use him as a climbing pole.

But then again, about half of them now, every second Saturday of every third month, avoided him. Avoided to speak, or even look at their evil Potions Master. And that gave Severus Snape a modicum of happiness it seemed. He did focus on talking to Kingsley Shacklebolt or Arthur Weasley. Or spoke to his wife.

And on that Saturday, December 8th, 2018, Severus Snape counted fifteen children, the same number as ever, even though both Ted Lupin and Victoire Weasley, 20 and 19, could not be called children any more, and were both not under his care any more, and only one pregnant woman, Hermione Weasley. She waddled already, Severus Snape thought with a half-sneer and was happy that he had spared his wife this sort of inconvenience. And she did not even look that far advanced in her pregnancy. He could have just asked his wife who would have gladly told him that Hermione was in her 18th week, or even Arthur who still beamed madly, proudly whenever one of his innumerable grandchildren walked, toddled, crawled or somehow moved forward on their stomachs and elbows and knees the way he had seen many children in that house do, but truth be told, he did not want to know.

He was glad that he had been careful enough to avoid becoming a father.

Hermione Weasley on the other hand, could not be happier about hers and Ron's third child. They had tried for a while, two years, three, three and a half, maybe. And now, it was there. It had just worked. They had just fallen pregnant again. She smiled at Ron, her love, as she stood in the kitchen of the Burrow, helping Molly preparing dinner and he suddenly came over, spread his hand possessively over her stomach, kissed her cheek and took off with Harry and George.

Marriage was good. It was the life she had wanted. With him. They made their working schedule match when they could. He as an Auror, and she, a prosecutor working for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. She would take a break when the little one was born but she knew Ron would help her. As he had done previously. He was very happy about the new baby. Very excited.

Her mother-in-law smiled at her and Minerva smirked catlike. Despite her age, she couldn't help but blush.

The long and short of it was that she was just very very happy in her life.

Yes, she was worried when Ron was called to an emergency and had to deal with wicked witches or wizards but she knew that he was careful. Careful for her and for Rose and for Hugo. He always was and she was proud of him. She knew that he wasn't far from being made of the Head of the Auror's Office. Or at the very least, Co-Head with Harry. And that made her proud. He was her Ron. They fought, yes, but they always made up nicely after that. And when she had been a little sad to let Rose go to Hogwarts, to let her daughter out into the world, he had helped, had stood by her. Loyal, unfaltering.

Actually, Hermione enjoyed those second Saturdays of every third month. She liked seeing how people had changed in the past twenty years. It seemed so long ago – and then again, not long at all. Snape, for instance, he was still the same, albeit with wife now. He still made fun of all of them but she knew deep down, that he was there because he cared. They had all of them, sooner or later, apologised to him and he had, snarkily, sneeringly accepted. And by now, Aleia was one of her best friends. If not her best female friend. She was bright and witty and smart. Never lost a bad word about anyone. She was as loyal to Snape as she to Ronald and she never talked about their life at home, at Hogwarts. She was the librarian, he the Potions Master. Minerva and Molly could not be nosier but even the Headmistress did not know whether they were truly happy behind closed doors. But why shouldn't they? Snape could be nice, definitely. And Aleia was one of the nicest persons she knew. A bit of a temper, a bit of arrogance, strong-willed, stubborn. Not quite the stereotype of a quiet, mousy librarian. Liked her robes with a slit to the thigh and liked low-cut necks.

No, she didn't understand the Snape's marriage but he was definitely kind to her. And treated her differently than he treated the rest of them, despite the respect he had for Molly, Arthur, Minerva and maybe even a little for the rest of them (apart from Neville. Poor Neville. Almost forty and still afraid of his former teacher). There was an intimacy between them that showed they trusted one another, held affection for one another. But Hermione wasn't sure if love looked like that. Maybe it did. Aleia never said anything.

She was just stirring the gravy, when Ron and Harry came back storming into the kitchen. Sometimes, they still behaved like little boys, but maybe men never grew up. She turned to them with a smile but when she saw the enchanted medallions in their hands, the smile vanished and she groaned.

"Again?"

Ronald nodded and hugged her tightly. "We'll be back for dinner."

She nodded, sighing, hating these emergencies. It was always those two of them. Never any junior Aurors. But well, those two, Harry and Ron, did their best work together.

"Be careful, okay?"

"I always am," he whispered in her ear and kissed her on the mouth briefly, and waving to Minerva, Molly, Aleia, Luna and Poppy, he disappeared through the back door.

_**xx**_

_**Please review and let me know what you think. **_

_**And nope, couldn't stay away for long, could I? Anyway, for those of you who also read Innocence Lost, I will post alternately. I promise!  
**_


	2. Night

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Of course neither Ron nor Harry had made it to dinner but Hermione had not expected anything else. It was not the catching of whoever it was but the procedures that came after that. Bringing the person in, questioning them, writing at least a quick report, letting the person go or taking them to Blasphetan, the relatively new Wizarding prison, five years old. Still in the middle of the North Sea. And then coming back. It always took a few hours.

She should have been used to it by now, but in all honesty, she wasn't. No matter how often she had done it, she disliked going home with Hugo only, letting Minerva or Poppy take the entire Weasley schoolchildren back to Hogwarts with them, and she disliked bringing Hugo to bed alone and, worse, going to bed alone herself. It was always worst when she was pregnant. Had been with Rose, had been with Hugo and was now with the little one.

And so, she waited up for him. Had brought Hugo to bed, and had settled in the living room with a weak cup of tea and a book. She read to her unborn child. True, it was probably too advanced for the baby, _Theory of Elemental Arithmantics for the Transfiguration of Primary Objects_, but she wanted the little one to hear her voice as often as possible. And the book was quite interesting. A new theory that helped with transfiguring natural objects, such as sticks, stones, basically by humans untouched objects, into other such primary objects.

And she completely lost track of the time while reading. She had left the Burrow at around ten, had sat down in comfortable sweatpants half an hour later, and as she was looking at the grandfather clock now, she saw it was well past 1 in the morning.

And that, slightly, worried Hermione. More than six hours that Ron was gone now. Could happen. But it was late and he usually sent an owl or flooed quickly. Oh well, she trusted Ron. He was a good wizard and he had Harry with him and the two of them together were brilliant and she tried to shrug the worry off, caressed her growing stomach and dragged herself off to bed.

xx

"Good night, Aleia," Severus said and entered his bedroom.

"Er, Severus?" his wife called after him, moving to the doorframe and he, standing by his bed looked over his shoulder.

"Yes?" he drawled and noticed her unbuttoning her robes. It fell of her shoulders and revealed that she had worn nothing underneath. She stood there in nothing, absolutely nothing, the robes pooling at her feet and she stepped out of them with a grace that was his wife's own. She flicked her long, blonde, wavy hair over her shoulder and looked at him with those half-lidded bedroom eyes. She smiled seductively and seemed to float over to him, her hand suddenly on his neck and she pressed herself, her naked form, against him and stood on her tiptoes.

"I want you, Severus," she whispered in that husky voice of hers and stroked her fingernails over his skin.

"Not tonight," he shook his head and disentangled her hands from around his neck, stepping a little away from her. "I'm tired."

He was well aware that this would infuriate her. He had, right from the beginning, made it clear that he would not, under any circumstances, share a bedroom with her. He had explained that he needed his space at night. That he needed to sleep and that she was much too distracting to get rest. That's when they had fought for the first time and Aleia had shown her temper for the very first time. She had thrown three vases, two plates, and on of the ancient potions vials he kept in his living room. After a while, however, she had given in to his wish. After he had sneaked out and slept on the couch every night. So they got together in her bedroom and after a while, when she was asleep, he went to his own bedroom. It made things so much simpler.

But not giving into her wish tonight, when he knew exactly that she had stared jealously on Hermione Weasley's pregnant stomach, made him cast non-verbal, wandless Protecting Charms on all his possessions.

"Not tonight?" there it began. She shrieked. First she shrieked, then she yelled, then she threw things. He wondered, once more, how someone who was usually one of the kindest, nicest people on earth could turn into such an harridan when she didn't get what she wanted. "Not tonight because you're tired? That was your excuse for the last two months!"

He merely rolled his eyes at her temper. It had something quite tragic to see a naked woman throwing a fit in his bedroom. With a bed only inches away. Because he did not want her. But he couldn't help himself. The sex had always been fine, Aleia was a passionate woman, no doubt about that, but the way he had felt for her, not quite love, more than affection, and definitely lust, was gone. He still liked her when she wasn't angry, he still felt affection but the rest was gone.

"Are you having an affair?" she yelled and he had to chuckle at the utter idea.

"Don't be ridiculous," he said and knew that it was a mistake. Calling her ridiculous always was. And there, suddenly, came the first book towards him. His Shield Charm was strong enough and the book dropped to the floor with a loud bang. She cried out in outrage and threw another one.

He would just have to stand there, watching his naked wife ride her tantrum out and he knew he would have to ask himself, again, why he turned her down so frequently. Why she just wasn't attractive any more.

Even though, he knew the answer.

xx

A rattling on the door woke her. It was still dark and Ron had a key. Why was someone rattling at the door? Or knocking. Or making a noise on the door. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and with her wand in one hand, the other protectively over her stomach, she walked carefully to the door and opened it a crack.

"Harry," she said, puzzled, and opened the door wide. Her best friend had a vacant expression on his face, there was mud on his cheek and a cut on his chin and throat. "What happened? Where's Ron?" she asked, panic rising in her.

But Harry merely stared at her. Said nothing, absolutely nothing. "Is Ron hurt?" she asked and knew her voice was getting louder and shrill.

But Harry said nothing. And a horrible weight settled on her chest. "Is he hurt?" she shouted now.

But Harry shook his head.

"Where is my husband?" she shouted.

"Hermione," he whispered, rawly.

She shook her head and grinned. "To scare a pregnant woman like that. You can tell him to come in now. You've had your fun and I tell you, it's not fun, but you've had it now and can you now please tell him to come in?"

But Harry only stared. "Hermione," he said and his voice broke.

She rolled her eyes. Of course they were joking. They were pranking her. Which truly wasn't nice. She was pregnant after all. And to pretend that Ron was – – no. "Come, I'll make you a cup of tea and I have some of the scones left that Ron loves maybe that will make him come in," she smirked and pulled him by his hand in the kitchen. "And? Did you go drinking after you caught whoever?"

"Hermione, no," he shook his head and pulled on her hand. Made her look at him and he had tears swimming in his eyes.

"Harry?" she asked and that horrible weight was back on her chest. When he only looked, and nodded and a tear fell from his eye, she shook her head.

She let go off his hand and pinched her own arm, hard. Again. And again. But Harry still stood there and he was crying.

Hermione Weasley understood. Her husband was not coming back and her world turned black.

_**xx**_


	3. Shock and Agony

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

She sat at the table in the kitchen and she knew the tea in front of her was cold. She had sent Harry, red-eyed Harry, crying Harry away. He had to be with family now. Had wanted to take her with him but Hugo was asleep and someone had to bring Rose home.

It was all so cold. Her hands were blue, probably, but she couldn't look down even if she wanted to. Her eyes were fixed on the coffee stain on the opposite wall. It was still there from the time that Rose and Hugo had made them breakfast in during the summer and Hugo had stumbled and the tray, with Hugo, had flown through the kitchen.

She would have to remind Ron to paint the kitchen. And soon because the spot bothered her.

Grimacing disgustedly at the tea, she made herself a fresh cup. She wasn't tired at all but did not know why exactly. Something was wrong but she didn't know what it was. Something had completely changed but she didn't know what.

Hermione just sat and shrugged and caressed her belly and wondered why she wasn't tired and why she felt so odd inside.

xx

He was afraid of splinching himself but there was no other way of transport to the Burrow. Ginny was at the Burrow and the rest of the family was at the Burrow. They would all be asleep. Maybe wait till the morning. News like that could wait until the morning.

No. He would have to get it out and, wiping the tears from his eyes, he concentrated hard and apparated.

Hermione was completely out of it. She had just sent him away. Had gone from staring to laughing hysterically, from numbness to utter disbelief. He hadn't wanted to leave her alone but she was a stubborn sort. Said, she needed to be with her son. Said she had to stay at home. And he knew that she was almost saying that she was waiting for Ron.

Only, and he had to remind himself, Ron would never come back.

Ron would never come back. Harry Potter choked back a sob and, biting his lower lip hard, he walked to towards the dark, dark Burrow.

He would have to wake them up. Would have to sit down with them. With his family. And he would have to tell Molly and Arthur, those two dear people, that they had to bury another child. Another son. That another son of them had fallen victim to a dark wizard.

Would have to tell them that he had lost his oldest and best friend. His brother. His brother-in-law. Had to tell them that they had done everything right but that Ron had turned his back at the wrong moment. And that the Killing Curse had been uttered so quick that by the time, Harry could turn around, his best friend lay lifelessly on the ground.

That there had been one wizard too many. That that wizard had gotten away. That they had not received enough information and that they only knew that it had been a group of four or five doing dark magic in a small side-alley of Diagon Alley. And that was the mistake. Not four or five but six. Six wizards in dark robes. And one stood in Ron's back and Harry had looked in a slightly different direction. Had taken the first down when he had seen that horrible green light, a green light he had never wanted to see again, lighting the dark alleyway. He had spun around and it had been too late.

He had failed to protect his best friend. He had failed. And he had to explain all this to his family. Both their family, to be honest.

Quietly, he pushed the door to the kitchen open, and found himself hugged fiercely by his wife.

"Oh, you're alright. I was so worried," she spoke rapidly. "What was it that took you so long?"

He pushed her off, glanced around. She had sat in the dark, only a single blue flame illuminating the magically enlarged kitchen. He knew there were tears pooling in his eyes again, even though he had so desperately wanted to avoid them. He was a grown man. An Auror. He had seen a lot of death. He had killed himself. Had been, basically, killed twice himself. But nothing, not even Sirius's death all those years before, could have prepared himself for the feeling that carrying Ron in his arms. Ron, not breathing, staring lifelessly into thin air.

"Harry?" Ginny asked worriedly and he could only shake his head and hang his head. "What happened?" she asked. "Is Ron...what happened to Ron?"

"Ron's dead," he choked voicelessly and he watched Ginny's eyes widen and saw her falling on the chair behind her.

"What?" she gasped. "That can't be."

He swallowed and nodded and had to lean against the door, sliding down, burying his face in his knees. Ginny was beside him in a moment, sitting on the floor, close, her arms around him and his around hers and he could feel her tears on his robes and her shaking frame.

"What about Hermione?" she asked after a long while. A while in which they just sat.

"I told her. She's at home," he replied softly. "I wanted to bring her here but she didn't..."

"Hey you two," the kind voice of his father-in-law sounded from the door, "what are you doing on the floor at that time of night?"

Ginny shot up like a bolt and she hugged her father tight and long and clutched him. "What's wrong?" he asked, puzzled, trying to pull slightly away from Ginny.

"It's Ron, he didn't..." Harry said slowly and he had not expected that reaction he witnessed. Arthur just seemed to crumble, to age about twenty years within a second and he fell heavily on a chair.

"Don't tell me Ron's..."

Harry could only nod and he drew blood from biting his lip too hard.

The older man's eyes were as wide as Ginny's and he clutched his chest. He shook his head, disbelieving, and muttered words Harry couldn't make out.

"There were too many. We were ill-informed. It hit him..."

"Stop!" Ginny shouted. "Just stop! This is not true."

He shut his eyes tightly and shook his head as well and dragged his knees tighter to his body. And only a moment later, he heard steps on the stairs and somehow, somehow, wished himself far away. Or wished to wake up from this nightmare.

He shut his eyes, his ears, everything. Pulled back inside himself. Didn't want to hear Molly's reaction. Didn't want to hear how Arthur told his wife.

But he couldn't help hearing the agonized scream of Molly and the thump when she fell on the kitchen floor.

xx

Severus Snape sighed deeply. She still hadn't unlocked her bedroom door and he sat alone and had breakfast. The grand hall was too much for him that morning. All those chatting, dunderheaded children. Too much after a tantrum-filled night.

He groaned when there was a knock on the door. Not Minerva early in the morning. He couldn't possibly stomach her now. Nevertheless, he wasn't that rude, or maybe he was, he got up, groaning again, and opened the door. Only to groan again.

"Headmistress," he greeted coldly and noticed only after a moment, that she looked shocked and seemed as if she had been crying. He had not often seen that usually so stern, together person like that. "Come in," he added quickly and shut the door.

"Where's Aleia?" she asked, her voice throaty.

"Aleia, Minerva's here to see us," he called in the direction of her bedroom and it opened within a second.

"Good morning," his wife said friendly, nothing like the harridan she had been the night before. She even smiled at him and Minerva. That was, she smiled until she saw the old woman's face. She sat then down immediately and waited. As did he. It seemed like Minerva needed to moment to get her bearings and she swallowed heavily.

"Ronald Weasley died last night," she said softly.

"Oh my God," Aleia gasped and clapped her hand to her mouth and seemed to swallow convulsively. And he had to admit to himself that he had not expected that. Had not expected that at all.

"How?" he said suddenly. He had only noticed his absence from dinner and that Hermione Weasley had looked a little sad about that.

"Hermione? How is Hermione?" Aleia asked before Minerva could answer.

"He was hit by Avada, apparently. Bill just owled me fifteen minutes ago. Hermione is in shock still, Bill writes, and expects Ron to return. Molly hasn't stopped crying and Arthur is..."

"We have to go and help, Severus," his wife fixed him with her eyes but he shook his head.

"No," he replied and shook his head. He couldn't explain. It was the thought of seeing a family in mourning. And Hermione Weasley in shock. Couldn't see her like this. Couldn't. "I have classes to teach," he added as coldly as he could and got up from the table. "You can go if you so desperately want to see a family in mourning," he shot at his wife and strode from his quarters. Not able to look his wife in the eyes at that moment.

_**xx**_


	4. Never

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Aleia Snape sat in her bedroom, at her vanity, and stared at her reflection. She still looked quite good. Little wrinkles around her eyes, and around her mouth and on her forehead. But nothing that bothered her.

And yet, Severus wasn't interested in her any more.

She pulled the skin back on her temples and observed the result. Weird. And not better. She quite liked those laughter lines, to be honest.

And maybe it wasn't her looks that had put Severus off of her. She knew he had never really loved her. But the affection he had felt for her had vanished somehow. She had absolutely no doubt that he still liked her, they still had great conversations in the evenings and they still got along quite nicely and didn't fight often but usually, those conversations had ended in her bed. Or, occasionally, in his. Not these days.

She had humiliated herself, had stood naked in front of him, had basically thrown her at his feet and nothing. He hadn't reacted at all. Not to her, not to the tantrum she had thrown. Nothing.

And it was the case so often lately. She had put up with so much. Had accepted that he had to sleep alone, and she knew that he still had nightmares. She heard him scream through two doors sometimes at night and Severus did not want her to know. She had accepted it.

She had accepted to know that he wasn't in love with her. Or hadn't been after the first year. That their passion in the beginning had not translated into love. They were companions who more often than not, had sex. She had accepted this.

But this? Only companions?

When she suspected him to be in love with someone else?

She wasn't sure she could do that. Trouble was, she was still in love with him. Ten years of marriage and she still desired him like mad. She could imagine being with him until one of them died. She wanted Severus Snape's child. She wanted to grow old with him.

But she would not be just cast away and be put into the friends-drawer. She would have to go before she got hurt even more.

But not yet. She would fight first. Fight for his love. Fight for his affection.

But first, she would see what she could do for Hermione. The poor woman. She had owled her her condolences and the owl had come back with a reply from Charlie Weasley that they had brought her and her children to the Burrow now and that she still hadn't quite come to terms with it. She still sat for hours on end at the table, watched the door, and waited for Ron to come back while Molly, Charlie had written, had not left her bed.

She browsed the letter again, there and now, getting ready for the funeral, and shook her head. The Weasleys were her friends. All of them, but especially Hermione and Charlie. Had been in the same year at Hogwarts with Charlie. Had been a Ravenclaw when he had been a Gryffindor. But Hermione was brilliant, Hermione who always came to the Hogwarts library, whether she needed a book, or just a chat. And Molly, that resolute woman, the feisty one who had always had an answer to everything and anything. Aleia shook her head. She could not imagine that strong-willed, lovely, wonderful woman just giving in and not getting out of bed. She just couldn't.

All of her problems with Severus seemed so silly now that she thought about the Weasleys. She still had her husband. He was alive and well and probably in the living room, pacing and huffing because she wasn't ready yet. Hermione didn't have a husband any more that nagged because she took longer and longer to get ready.

She shook her head sadly at herself in the mirror and with a sigh, got up and dressed.

xx

Ron was _never_ coming back.

Hermione Weasley sat at the old vanity in Ginny's old room at the Burrow and stared at her reflection.

"Ron is _never_ coming back," she said to herself.

She had woken up some time during the night and it had hit her. From one second to another, she knew that sitting by the door would not make him come back. He was gone. Gone. Gone. He would not come back. Forever.

She would never see him again. Never speak to him again. Never kiss him again. Never hold him. Never laugh with him. Never eat with him. Never hold his hand again. Never make love with him again. Never cuddle with him. Never look into his eyes again. Never watch him play with the children again. Never see him hold his baby.

He would never see his unborn child.

She looked down at her stomach and choked.

He would never see the little on growing inside of her. He would never get to know him or her.

And that child would never see his or her father. Never.

Her hand, feeling so foreign to her, touched her stomach in those black robes and it felt so strange. They had been so looking forward to the baby. When she had told him about it, when she had told him she was pregnant, he had lifted her in his arms, had spun her around. Had kissed her, had made love to her there and then in the living room while Hugo was with his grandparents.

She would never see him again. Never.

Hermione so wanted to scream. Had wanted to scream ever since she had woken in the middle of the night and had felt with her hand that there was no other side of the bed. That he was not sleeping beside her and that he would never sleep beside her again. That she would never in the middle of the night, poke him grumblingly, because he snored so loudly.

The other side of the bed would be empty now. Cold. Would never hug her in the mornings. Would never fall asleep in his arms again.

Her mouth opened in a silent scream. Would never see him again.

Never.

xx

He strongly disliked all of those festivities. Marriages, christenings, funerals. And of those, funerals were probably worst. People were mourning and he did not deal well with mourning people.

And especially those people.

Weasleys in general were insufferable Gryffindors. But nobody deserved this. Families had lost people during the War but ever since, it had been rather quiet in the Wizarding World. People died of old age or broom-accidents or sicknesses. They were not generally killed. At least nobody he knew.

And despite everything he thought about the Weasleys in general or Ronald Weasley in particular, he had grown into a capable wizard. And to be hit by a Killing Curse in the back that was an end that Ronald Weasley had not deserved.

And yet, when all was said and done, he had already paid his respect to Ronald Weasley in quiet. He disliked that walking behind coffins and having to watch how a wife, a mother, brothers, sister, and other family members staggered behind it as well.

But, he had manners and his presence was expected. But to see her staggering there, right behind the coffin, her children, Rose and Hugo, on her side, both holding onto one of their mother's hands, was horrible. He had seen her briefly before. She was pale, her hair pulled up somehow, messily, the black robes accentuating the dark rings around her eyes and her haggard, gaunt, sunken cheeks, face.

Molly Weasley wasn't faring any better but at least, Arthur and Charlie were by her side, supporting her. And they walked right behind Hermione. Behind them, Harry Potter and his wife and he wasn't sure who was leaning on whom. Then Bill with his wife and the rest of the clan following. All of them horrible looking.

He was, with Aleia by his side, directly behind Fred and his wife. Why he was there, he didn't know. Minerva was behind them. He didn't know what he had done to being made to walk directly behind the Weasleys.

And his wife, suddenly, took his hand and pulled him slightly to her. She looked over to her and she nudged her head towards Hermione.

"She won't make the way without help," she whispered.

He rolled his eyes. He knew that himself. Her children couldn't keep her upright and her steps had slowed and the staggering was worse now but it was not his place to help her, to support her. There were a lot of people. There was her family. Not her parents, they were, apparently, dead, but the Weasleys.

"Oh for Merlin's sake," Aleia hissed and quickened her steps, overtook the Weasleys and before he knew it, she was next to Hermione and pushed herself between Hugo and Hermione, and had her hand on the widow's back.

Severus groaned silently, and, quickened his steps as well. It would not do for his wife to help Hermione and himself to trot in the line. Though why it wouldn't do, he wasn't sure.

Especially since, well, Hermione, it was her and he hadn't quite dared to get too close to her.

But now, he felt compelled. He had to. Had to support her. And support his wife in supporting her. He looked down at Rose Weasley and the girl smiled a little weakly at him, gratefully, too, probably, and she gladly, so it seemed, moved to her brother's side and gripped his hand so he could be beside Hermione.

She stared on the ground and her glaze seemed empty but she let him take her arm and let him loop it through his. Her hands were cold and she didn't even look up. She just walked a little more securely and Aleia shot him a grateful glance as well.

He bit the inside of his cheek and focused on walking behind the coffin and didn't focus on the woman he kept upright together with his wife. It was highly inappropriate. But then again, he had not been that close to her in months. And he could plainly see her growing stomach. No.

It could never be. He knew.

And he would have to make himself make an effort with Aleia. Aleia was a good woman. And his wife.

xx

She groaned and let herself fall on the couch in their living room. She absolutely disliked funerals. It was horrible to see a wonderful family like the Weasleys so in mourning.

Severus had been right. She would have been completely wrong to go to see them immediately after. Even now, four days later was too early.

Hermione had began to cry at the grave, had especially cried when she had noticed that she and Severus were by her side and somehow, she had first hugged her really tightly, and then Severus. But that brought a small smile back on her face.

He had looked, frankly, as if he had been forced to eat a bogey-flavoured Bott-bean. But he had hugged her back, still with that disgusted look on his face, but he had hugged back. And she had seemed to sag against him.

But this was the Severus she loved. The one that did so much good, so grumblingly. She smiled at him when he came in from his bedroom, in his trousers and shirt. He looked tired and she smiled at him.

"Tough day, eh?" she asked gently and he nodded, sat down on the couch next to her and did what he had not done in a long while. He took her hand, observed it for a moment before he brought it up to his lips and kissed her knuckles gently.

"Severus?" she asked but her heart soared in her chest. If it took a funeral to make him affectionate towards her, then so be it. They would attend a lot more funerals.

Instead of answering, he leant over and kissed her. Kissed her the way he hadn't kissed her in a long, long while. It was passionate, a little rough. He claimed her. It at least felt this way. And she didn't mind one bit.

She half fell back on the couch, was half pushed by him and she sighed happily when he touched her again, kissed her, undressed her, caressed her, kissed her more and her sighs turned to moans and he was with her and kissed her the way she had always wanted to be kissed when she had fantasised about being with a man. And he touched her, the way he whispered her name, and touched more than her body.

xx

She lay half on him on the couch and he stroked her hair the way she liked. This was the way it should be. It hadn't been fair of him to push her away all this time. She was a part of his life. She was whom he was married to.

And he could never have Hermione.

_**xx**_


	5. Getting Away

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

She heard her crying again. Rose had cried so often since they had brought her to the Burrow and Hugo didn't talk much. Rose sat somewhere in the attic and cried. She heard her. Hugo at least was in the kitchen or in the living room and didn't say much.

She worried about the children.

But she didn't know what to say. Didn't even know how to explain it to herself. Didn't know what to say, what to do. She just knew that she had to go back home, back to work. Away from that house that had once been so happy and was now as if a dark cloud hung constantly over it. It was only spoken in whispers and she herself felt like screaming most of the time. The silence was almost unbearable. She needed to do something. Anything. And Hugo and Rose needed to do something.

She wasn't sure if sending Rose back to Hogwarts was the right thing. She didn't know. She just didn't know anything at the moment, but this constant crying in the attic was just wrong. There was a ghoul up there. And nobody could hold her back from going up there.

Maybe she would have to be just sent back. Or she would take both her children back home with her for the time being. But away from there. Away from Arthur who forced himself to work every morning, away from Molly who did the housework like a robot. The rest of the Weasleys had left. Even Harry and Ginny had left.

And then again, she wasn't sure if it was the right thing to leave and leave those two kind people alone but Charlie looked in occasionally. But to return to the house she and Ron had been so happy in? Charlie and Bill had picked her up and brought her to the Burrow. She hadn't wanted to leave. No, that wasn't true. She hadn't known what she had wanted. She hadn't understood anything.

But now, now she wasn't sure what she understood and what to do. Maybe she would have to ask someone for advice. Maybe leaving the Burrow just for a bit would help.

Hermione sighed, dragged herself from the bed and got dressed. Had to get out of a bit.

xx

He tried to be extremely considerate. He tried to be a good husband. He had given her a necklace. Just like that, he had spent some nights in her bed since the funeral, he had made it a point to drop by the library if he couldn't make it to lunch with Aleia. It was pathetic and hypocritical.

He knew he should just be honest with her. He knew should just sit down with her, tell her that he had fallen in love with another woman, tell her that he still liked her a lot, liked her more than most people he knew, but that this marriage was nothing more than a farce. That she could never get what she wanted from him, and worse, with him. But he was, after all was said and done, an egotistical bastard these days. He liked the marital _bliss_ he was living these days.

He liked returning to a woman every day after teaching classes. He liked talking to someone every day. He liked that she was there and that she liked him.

Too little time in his life when there had been someone who was always there.

That's why he stuck with Aleia. Because he liked her. Because she was there. And because, maybe, she loved him. And it flattered him. She was a gorgeous, smart woman.

Woman he had, one day, just ran into in Muggle London in a bookshop. Well, not quite ran into. It had been a rather busy day, one of those packed full days just before Christmas and she had tried to reach a book on one of the topmost shelves. Instead of waiting for someone to pull it down for her, he had seen the tip of her wand peeking from her sleeve and the book had fallen into her hands.

And that had made her interesting. And she was beautiful and he had been sick of being bombarded by idiotic love letters from women he had never met, nor seen, in his life. So he had taken Aleia out. And had taken her out again. And again.

And again.

And had eventually taken her to the Weasleys with him. Had eventually asked her to marry him. Because he liked her and was definitely in lust with her, held a sort of affection for her that he had not felt for a woman, probably, ever. He could stand being around her for a long time. And in the beginning, he had wanted to be with her a lot.

He couldn't have hoped for better reasons to marry. Nobody would ever compare to Lily. That's what he had thought. Lily was on a pedestal. Lily was a statue now. And Lily's statue was by now green from patina. She had paled in comparison to another woman.

Another woman he could not have. Could never have.

And so, yes, he would settle on Aleia.

Maybe a child wouldn't be so bad at all. It would give her something to do besides the library and it would make her happy. Aleia was real. Those two other women, Lily on her patinated pedestal and Hermione grieving for the love of her life, were not. Those were dreams and he would have to stop dreaming. Would have to be with Aleia with all that he could offer.

Severus Snape strode through the halls of Hogwarts, up to see his wife, once more. Another Hufflepuff blowing up a cauldron. Another instant when he had to clean up his classroom and could not make it to lunch. And he had needed the time to think in any case. Needed a bit of time away.

But then again, he also needed a book in any case. And books were where his wife was and so, during the first of his two free periods, he made his way up to the library. He was getting a little older, yes, but he knew that students were even more afraid of him these days than ever before. His reputation, despite having his wife by his side during most of the meals in the Great Hall, and not even that softening towards other people had changed his evil dungeons persona. And no, they didn't live in the dungeons. Aleia had not liked it there. Too damp, too dark. But yes, he was still able to make students shiver in their shoes and flinch when he walked past them in the corridors.

As he did now. And he felt a jolt of glee seeing two Ravenclaws who had been close to kissing jump apart. And an evil smirk was enough to have the rush away from him.

He still smirked when he pushed the door to the library open. But his wife wasn't there at her desk.

xx

Aleia was cataloguing the new books she had found in the attic of an old, single wizard who had died and who had bequeathed his entire estate to Hogwarts. It happened occasionally. And she never really understood why. But she had her work cut out for her. Wooden crate after wooden crate after wooden crate. Sort them, catalogue them, put them in new shelves.

Well, that was what she had been doing all morning long, mornings were quiet when the children were all in class and only a few sixth or seventh years had free periods, but then, a pale, drawn, and thin, apart from the protruding belly, Hermione walked in in black robes and her hair a mess.

Aleia had stood up from where she had been working immediately and without saying a word, she had hugged Hermione. And Hermione had begun to cry.

What else could she do but put the work aside, pull Hermione in the corner of the Restricted Section and, with Protective Charms around them and the books, she had summoned tea from an elf. And had let Hermione talk.

And talk she did. She had missed lunch in the Great Hall because Hermione still talked about Ron. She had fed Hermione. And Hermione's baby. Though, Aleia, frankly, wasn't sure whether Hermione even truly grasped now that she was pregnant. She never said anything about the baby.

"And Molly is not Molly any more," Hermione explained, tears in her eyes, "she does all the housework and everything but she doesn't speak much and she cleans more than ever before. It's scary how clean the Burrow is. She cooks and makes all of Ron's favourites but she never eats..."

"And you don't eat well either," Aleia interrupted.

Hermione shrugged only but said nothing.

"You should think about the baby," she tested. And the test was, probably, negative. Or positive. She wasn't sure which. It was only that Hermione was looking puzzled at the moment and seemed to quickly glance down at her stomach. She nodded slowly, and paled a little more.

"Yes," she whispered and nodded and her hand found her belly and rubbed. "I have to think about Ron's baby."

"And I'm sure you can stay here for a while if you don't want to go home. I'm sure Minerva will find you rooms to stay in and you could be with people you like, Hermione. It can't be good for you to stay with Molly and Arthur."

"But they might need me," Hermione said in a little voice.

Aleia shook her head and moved around the little table and hugged Hermione from behind. "You need to take care of yourself and your children. All three of them. And if you stay here, you could be with Rose and she can still attend classes if she feels like it. And Hugo will be taken care of. You need a change of scenery."

Hermione sighed and nodded a little again. "Maybe it would be good."

Aleia looked up, her gaze pulled up by some force she could not understand and knew why.

xx

She was suggesting she should stay at the castle?

That couldn't be good. And Hermione looked like, oh no. 'Don't even think about it,' he told himself in his head. No. She looked like she needed a hug. So lost, so insecure. So alone. Even though Aleia got up and hugged her, she still seemed so alone. It was almost painful to see.

But a moment later, his wife looked up and met his glance. "Yes," he said slowly, "you should stay at the castle for a bit," he heard himself say before his brain even had the possibility of stopping his mouth.

_**xx**_


	6. Wrong

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

One glance of her husband's was enough. The woman slumped in her arms was exhausted, tired, and probably overwhelmed by talking so much about that. By probably reliving it to a certain extent. And Severus just glanced at her and it was enough for her to understand that she would go to the Burrow.

Get the children, get her things. For a while.

"Severus, would you?" she asked, Hermione still held closely to her chest and he only raised his eyebrows. "Or do you want to go?" That alone made him shake his head and he leant slightly against the bookshelf.

"Hermione, dear?" Aleia asked but the woman didn't answer.

"She obviously fell asleep," Severus said quietly and she sighed softly, her brow ever so slightly furrowed.

"Severus, would you take her up to our room, please?"

"Absolutely not," he protested, crossing his arms over his chest and his legs at the ankles. "I'm not taking that woman anywhere," he added, hissing.

"She lost her husband," she hissed back. "And she needs to stay with friends not her mourning parents in law. She needs someone who helps her."

"And if you think that's us, you're mistaken," he snapped and pushed himself off from the bookshelf, his arms still crossed over his chest. "I will not have her in our quarters."

"She's my friend," she spat back. "And if you won't take her up, I will."

"Fine," he said calmly and with his usual air of arrogance, his usual stupid billowing robes, he left the library, left her looking startled after him. He was a private man, yes, he never told anyone about anything. She hadn't really gotten to know him until they had been going out for a while. And she still probably knew only half of who Severus Snape really was. He kept everything so close to himself, yes. But not helping? After he had told Hermione to stay? That wasn't like him. That wasn't like him at all.

For one, he never changed his mind so quickly. One minute yes, the other no – that was her. Not him. And then refusing to help her? Not her Severus. He might not love her, but he always supported her. He was always there, quietly. He took paperwork from Minerva when the poor woman was overwhelmed. He did rounds for other professors. He did everything for everyone. He never told people about it, but he was, in general, a helper. She had a sleeping, mourning, sad, desperate woman leaning against her and he simply walked away? Unheard of.

He never did. That wasn't the man she knew. And worse, she didn't understand. She didn't understand at all. Not that she claimed to understand Severus most of the time. But whatever he did, most had a reason and she knew that there was the reason, not necessarily the reason itself.

But this seemed so completely out of the blue. Without reason or rhyme.

Aleia Snape shook her head to herself and carefully, slowly, disentangled herself from the sleeping, or passed out, woman and levitated her towards the exit of the library. Severus would surely come around. And if not, oh well, he had a separate bedroom anyway.

xx

Stupid.

Stupid was what he was. Boringly plain stupid. First telling her that she _should_ stay, not could stay, not might stay, not probably consider staying, no, it had to be _should_ stay. Of course Aleia, bloody woman, would take her up to their rooms. He should have seen that coming. Aleia was that way. Ravenclaw with a silly Hufflepuff tendency.

But yes, that was who he was. Severus Snape who made life extra difficult for himself. He didn't need any help from anyone for that any more. Telling the woman that he l...fancied to stay in the castle in which he lived with his wife.

That was a superbly brilliant idea. Having Hermione in their rooms was the worst idea Aleia had had in a while. Only, she didn't know. She didn't know that he had just wanted to pull the poor woman into his arms just minutes before and carry her straight to their couch, brush her hair from her face, kiss her forehead or her temple or her cheek or her lips and tell her that he could make it all better. That it would be alright.

And how he had wanted it. Only, he knew that it wasn't possible. He was a married man, and she was a widow who carried her dead husband's child. She was pregnant with Ronald Weasley's child and his wife wanted one as well. Wanted his child.

And besides everything he had ever thought of Ronald Weasley, he had no chance of ever comparing to him. Not in Hermione's books. And now that he was dead, even less so. By the time her mourning had lessened, he knew that she would have put him on a pedestal. And that nobody ever could compare to him.

Least of all a greasy bat who had been relocated from the dungeons and who had married because he had not wanted to die alone. Because he had the chance of not dying alone. Someone who used other people, even his wife, for his advantage and was a self-righteous bastard most of the time. An egotistical prick who had absolutely no experience in loving anything else than a beautiful phantasm of a woman. Because he only knew how to love the image of a woman.

And in comparison to Ronald Weasley, he was an emotional cripple.

He knew and he had absolutely not delusions about that fact. He knew, however, that having her in his private rooms, the one place on earth where he could utterly relax, would make him more than uneasy. He could not stand seeing her this broken. Wanted to make it better. And knew that there was absolutely nothing that he could do.

And that was the end of the matter. He would go to his office. Would stay away from his rooms. And, he knew, he would not allow Hermione to spend the night in their quarters. And if Aleia just decided over his head, if Minerva had not given her other rooms, he would sleep at his old home. He would go to Spinner's End.

Couldn't be that close to her. That was close to torture.

xx

Aleia smiled a little crookedly when she saw the familiar form of Charlie Weasley coming towards her. He had obviously been doing something in the garden, quite unusual for this time of year, the dead of winter, but he had smudges of dirt on his trousers and though it was cold and she was glad that she had taken her warm cloak, he was merely wearing a t-shirt.

"Hullo," he said solemnly and came to a halt just in front of her. "What brings us this pleasure?"

She could see it was hard on him. And it was hard on the other family members as well. She knew. "Hi," she replied gently. "Hermione came to Hogwarts and she'll stay there for a while."

He nodded. "It's probably best for her. Even though, maybe the..."

"The children as well. Hermione told us that, well..."

"It's like a tomb inside," he interrupted with a sigh, running dirty hands through his flaming red hair. It was almost shoulder length now and his eyes dropped to the ground.

"How are you holding up?" she asked, her voice very quiet and she impulsively put her hand on his arm.

"It's a nightmare," he replied throatily. "From one minute to the other, everything changed and I'm not sure how I..." he stopped, hung his head, his shoulders hunched and she felt that he was fighting for his composure.

"Oh dear," she sighed and stepped closer and without thinking, she pulled her former classmate into her arms, hugged him, her arms around his waist and a split second later, he had his arms around her as well, holding her close and hugging her. No, it wasn't hugging, it was clinging, really and Aleia had the feeling that so far, everyone had been so immersed in their own grief and had been so sure of the consolation of spouses that people had forgotten about the single Charlie. And he was the one staying mostly at the Burrow. He was the one that had dealt with Arthur, Molly, and Hermione. He had helped them and she suspected that nobody had helped him. That nobody had hugged him.

And he wouldn't let go. He just held her and she felt him lowering his face to her shoulder, burying it there and she could do nothing but stroke his back gently and speak in a low voice. "It's okay, Charlie," she said and he took a shuddering breath. "You ought to take a break as well, dear," she added, almost whispering. "You can't take care of everyone."

He shook his head and for a moment, it felt like he was burying his face deeper into her shoulder and his arms tightened around her.

"No, honestly, Charlie. You're running yourself down as well, and that can't be good. Not for them and not for yourself. You can't help them, support them if you don't have the strength to."

He shook his head again and after another shuddering breath, he pulled away, his ears, his cheeks pink. "M'sorry," he mumbled and she only smiled in reply.

"It's nothing," she said and stroked his bare arm soothingly. It was cold. "And it will not help if you catch cold either."

"I was just..."

Aleia smiled and waved it off. "I was the same when my Mother died. Kept busy all the time. I think I've never cleaned so much since."

Charlie smiled at her and while his smile was a little sad, she knew that he had understood her. And for a fleeting moment, she wished that Severus would understand her that way. Without having to explain so much.

xx

Severus Snape did not deserve his wife. She was gentle. She was kind. She was supportive. And Aleia had been like this ever since he had met her. Herbology. Sprout. Back when he had been just a tiny, little, wee boy. And she had been a tiny, little, bright, wee girl. Should have been in Hufflepuff for all her loyalty but she was too smart for that. Within two minutes she had made him feel better already. It was all it had taken her. An embrace and a few words.

Of course she didn't know that he had longed for an embrace like this for quite some time.

But, of course, nobody let himself be caught staring at Severus Snape's wife. Everyone knew his temper. And yes, he, Charles Reginald Weasley, had pushed all of those feelings back in his head, naturally. And he had gone out with a few other women, had been rather serious about her. But nothing had ever come of it. Of course not. She had two other blokes on the side at the same time. But Aleia Stapelton was something else. And off limits for any male who wanted to keep his male bits. Everyone knew that, while Snape was not a demonstrative man, he would not give this woman up for anything in the world. He was a possessive bastard and had hence, he had not thought about Aleia in that way for a long time.

Only now, in time of need, she had miraculously appeared and had hugged him. Just like that. And he had to smell her neck and her hair and he had just let his head sink onto her shoulder and had held her close. And she had felt so right, there, in his arms. He was only a little taller than she was. And he only noticed then how nice she felt, how lovely. How curvy in the right places and how wonderful she smelled so close.

But it mustn't be.

She was right, however. He would go back to his flat in London for a bit, stay there for a night or two and would only look in on his parents. Or would owl one of his siblings. He needed to clear his head for a bit.

And only now he realised that he was still looking at her, at the beautiful woman standing there. "Er, I can help you get some of her things and the children to Hogwarts," he said softly and she smiled stunningly, nodded and, her hand still on his arm somehow, they walked towards the Burrow.

xx

He unlocked the doors to his quarters, well, their quarters with his wand and pushed the door open. She was still there, on the couch, sleeping and he truly couldn't help it. He stood rooted to the spot and stared at her, her hair wild and loose and her mouth ever so slightly parted and she was truly magnificent despite the pale, sallow skin and the sunken cheeks. Despite the growing belly. Despite the red blotches on the whitish skin.

No. He had to go.

He summoned a quill and a bit of parchment and scribbled very quickly, very quietly. A note. He couldn't stay. Not with that beautiful woman on his couch.

He had a change of clothes in Spinner's End. He would floo in. He put the note on the big table and turned to leave. Not looking at her. Definitely not looking at her.

But there was a rustle. Just a little noise coming from the couch and he didn't look. He was about to open the door when he heard her. "Severus?" she asked in a little, tired voice and he cursed the evil day he had allowed her to call him by his given name. He had been a little tipsy.

He turned around slowly, the neutral mask he had perfected to wear over the decades, securely on his face. "Yes?"

"Where am I?"

"In our quarters. My wife will be back soon. I have to go," he replied and turned to face the door. "You stay."

And with that, he fled. Fled from his own chambers.

_**xx**_


	7. Spinner's End

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**This one - with a big thanks for being there for me and helping - to my darling friends Alabaster Princess and itat88. Thanks, luvs!  
**_

_**xx**_

_Aleia,_

_I'll stay at Spinner's End for a few days. _

_Severus_

She was fuming. Truly, exceptionally fuming. She had brought Rose and Hugo to the castle and Hermione had been still on the couch, her arm draped over her eyes. She had sat up immediately though when she had heard her children but only Hugo let himself be hugged. Rose, Rose the little second year, just stared blankly ahead and had sat down on the floor, her eyes on the fire in the fireplace and her back against the couch.

And that was, basically, when she found his note.

Severus was not a coward, usually.

But to leave her there on her own? That was just out of character. Again.

"I didn't want to drive him away," Hermione said gently from the couch, her son cuddled up against her.

She shook her head. "You didn't. He'll be back soon."

But she didn't know that. She didn't know when he'll come back. He had never before gone to Spinner's End without her. And they hadn't gone there much. It was, after all, a shabby, run down house. And except his books, there wasn't much else. And while his collections was huge, it wasn't quite enough to keep her entertained for an entire summer. And he went there only sometimes. Sometimes when he needed a special book. But he never stayed there.

And now he did? Because Hermione was there?

Because Hermione was there.

No. No that couldn't be.

Severus wasn't capable of falling in love. That much had been clear right from the start and she had known it. She had known and it had been alright because, well, she was whom he liked and felt affection for. But if he was now in love with Hermione – no. No that couldn't be. He had left because he couldn't stand being around a crying, grieving, mourning woman and her children. And he couldn't stand that. He hated those displays of emotion. He hated her tantrums. He hated when she cried and he had never made a move to console her when she had been sad.

Oh but he had hugged Hermione. At the funeral.

He would have never hugged her in public like that. Well, not before they were married in any case. He maybe would now. But he had hugged Hermione closely at the funeral of her husband.

For a moment, a moment only, she felt herself staring at Hermione. She was a bit younger than herself. Not all that much. And not prettier.

It couldn't be. Just couldn't be.

He just couldn't. It wasn't like him. He didn't want to be around her consoling Hermione. That was it. And he probably hated the fact that a student and a future student of his saw his private quarters.

She would floo him. And would tell him that there was nothing about it, that she was their friend and that they needed to help her. Simple. And he would set her mind to rest. Because he had never fallen in love with someone else than Lily Evans.

xx

Aleia, he knew, hated Spinner's End. She would never even consent to spending a few weeks there every summer. Said it was boring. Stuffed full of books and nothing else. But oddly enough, he hung onto the old place. It was, after all, full of memories. Mostly bad memories, yes, but memories nevertheless.

And he just sat there, staring at the walls lined with books. Books. Only books. Aleia would show up sooner or later. She disliked notes. And she would certainly think it odd that he had just disappeared. He had never left Hogwarts without her, as incredibly as that sounded. As many problems as they had, he had never spent the night further away than his own room. Never had he gone and neither had she.

She would grow suspicious. Definitely.

So he would explain – calmly – that he wasn't very good with grieving people and with people invading his quarters. She knew he was a private man. And she would have to understand that, no matter what. And he knew, from various tantrums she had thrown over the years, was that she knew that he was incapable of falling in love.

And that was what he had thought as well. For a long, long time.

Until that one day.

That one day at the Burrow. And she had been there and her husband was outside. And she had sat there, she had been Hermione by the time, and he had been Severus already, on the floor, watching the children, and talking to him.

And it had hit him. Just like that. And he had realised that for quite some time, she was the one he wanted to talk to and never dared to. She was the one he was always secretly watching. She was the one that he observed. And Ronald Weasley was the one man he was jealous of. It had hit him.

She was a brilliant woman. Someone he longed to be with.

And of course he hated it. And he couldn't understand it. And had wanted to stay away from the Burrow. Away from her. Aleia had not allowed it. And how could he have explained that he couldn't go because of another woman? He couldn't do that.

So time after time, he had gone. And had tried not to notice her. And it hadn't quite worked. It had grown and grown. And by the time she had announced that she was pregnant again, he had been ready to slit Ronald Weasley's throat.

But now that Ronald Weasley was dead – it complicated everything. It took all his chances. Not that he had ever had any.

"Severus?" he heard and groaned and straightened his coat as he stood up. It was always better to face her standing up.

"Yes?" he drawled as coldly as he could and stood very straight.

"Why are you here?" she stepped into the living room where he stood.

He drew a deep breath. "To be out of _my_ quarters and away from weeping women," he replied with venom in his voice. "And be away from students I have to teach that now roam around _my_ rooms."

She shook her head and stepped very close to him, her hands in fists by her sides. "_Your_ rooms? _Your_ quarters? One student, Severus! And Rose is merely staring into thin air. They're in mourning, Severus, not squatters. They will stay as long as they need to stay."

Her glare was fierce and her eyes blazing. He couldn't think of anything to say, really but he didn't have to say anything since she ploughed on. "And if you want to stay here, Severus Snape, you stay here. But answer me this..."

"Yes?" he sneered.

"Are you in love with her?" she asked, her eyes boring into his. But he was prepared. Very, very prepared. And so he merely, disdainfully, rolled his eyes and stared right back.

"Dear wife of mine," he spoke coldly, "your accusations are ridiculous. And I will not stand for them any longer."

She glared and her nostrils flared ever so slightly. "You stare at her. And you hugged her in public."

He arched his eyebrows. "You pushed her into my arms. At her husband's funeral. When you hugged the rest of the Weasleys."

"I did not," she spat.

"I could just as well accuse you of being in love with one of them," he said coldly.

She shook her head. "You are absolutely insane, Severus," she replied but he merely arched his eyebrows again. He hadn't honestly thought he was onto something there. But the way she looked – it seemed a little odd. A little too quick with her answer. A little too adamant on his insanity.

"My my my," he mocked and strode out of the living room, and she followed quickly.

"Are we getting childish now?"

"You tell me," he was in the kitchen by now and she had followed him, her heels clattering on the floor. He turned to look at her and she huffed, wide eyed and angry looking.

"You never behaved this insanely," she almost shouted and turned on her heel, throwing one last glance at him. "Nutter," she muttered and before he could – or wanted to – reply, she was out of the house and had apparated away.

"Dear, dear, my wife and a Weasley," he said coldly to himself and vowed to pay very, very close attention. If he did not get the woman he wanted, she certainly would not get the man he wanted.

_**xx**_


	8. One and the Other

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

He knew that it was more than wrong to stay at Spinner's End. He stayed away from his wife, and he knew what she was up to. He didn't even have to teach – Christmas holidays – and didn't do rounds at night. Hadn't done so for the last three nights. He had been in Spinner's End, had spent his time there, alone. And being alone had been simpler, he realised now, back then. Back when he had not been married, when it had just been him in the dungeons, he had been able to read for as long as he liked and nobody came into the living room in the middle of the night with tousled hair and arched eyebrows and while she didn't nag, Aleia had a way of making him roll his eyes. And while she had a love of books that almost matched his, it had grown less once she spent all her days in the library.

No matter though, it was wrong of him to stay at Spinner's End. It was more difficult now to be alone. And he didn't understand it. He truly didn't. It was as if he had grown used to company and that couldn't be good. It was not him any more and whether he had wanted it or not, he had grown attached to his wife. And to her company.

Silly of him. And truly stupid.

And Aleia had more or less admitted to having feelings for a Weasley. Though which, he wasn't sure yet. The most likely was William. She had been to school with both William and Charles. But the latter, oh well, even he had heard the rumours about his sexuality. And since all of the other Weasley sons had bred more or less like their parents, Charles had not.

No, he doubted it was Charles and neither could it be Ronald these days. He doubted, to be honest, that she would be so willing to take his widow in if it had been Ronald. So it left William and George Weasley. And since she had never really liked younger man (at least so far), it could only be the former.

He would keep an eye on it. And he would most certainly have to leave Spinner's End to keep an eye on her. Who knew what she had already been up to in those three days.

He sighed deeply and pushed the book he was reading in his pocket before he made sure that everything in his old home was locked up and secure before he strode out to apparate.

xx

She had not really left the couch since she had arrived. She refused to go with her children to the Great Hall for meals. Rose had caught herself slightly and had taken her little brother with her to the Gryffindor table every time and showed him Hogwarts. They stuck together but Aleia could see that, with the other children all gone home for the Christmas holidays (and Christmas had apparently been ignored in the Weasley family that year), and all their cousins gone, it wasn't ideal. It seemed that Hermione had pulled herself together more while she had been at their in-laws. Now, she had just let go and lay or sat, all apathetic on the couch. And she only talked a little to her children. Nothing else much and Aleia had grown a little lonely.

Until an owl had arrived that morning. From Charlie Weasley who had asked her to bring the children and Hermione to the Burrow. Just because Molly and Arthur needed a bit of family around.

She had asked Hermione to come. And Hermione had stared blankly ahead. It most certainly wasn't the right time to leave her alone but she had little choice, really and she had told the house elves to look in on her.

That's what you got when your husband left you, she thought bitterly, squeezed the apathetic woman's shoulder, and she didn't even look up, before she ushered the children into the floo and left straight after them. She would look probably return straight away anyway. And those ten minutes, she could leave her alone. There was an elf. And there were charms on all breakables and the sharp objects. She had made the rooms safe if Hermione should come to herself and have strange ideas.

But she couldn't honestly force Severus to do anything. He had left. He had gone to his house, away from her when she had only meant to help someone. She couldn't have guessed that Hermione was falling into that kind of stupor now again. She had been there already. Or maybe it had been a different kind of stupor. Or numbness.

"Aleia," someone called for her and she stumbled away from the fireplace and was, immediately, it seemed, held by two strong, bare, freckled arms and as she looked up, she looked into the gently smiling face of Charlie Weasley.

She couldn't honestly explain – neither to herself nor to anyone – why her stomach suddenly felt so warm. It couldn't be heartburn. But it felt, somewhat, similar. Without hurting and burning. Just warm.

She allowed herself to flash him a smile. "Hi. I brought the children. Hermione is...she couldn't be..."

"What's happened to Hermione?" he asked quietly and pulled her out into the garden before she could greet any of the other Weasley's present.

"Charlie, stop pulling me," she shook her head. "She's just numb again. She got on the couch when I brought her to Hogwarts and hasn't really left it since. She talks a bit to Rose and Hugo and caresses her tummy from time to time but never talks to me."

"And to Snape? They always sort of got along. Does she talk to him?" he asked and still held on to her arm which she shrugged off quickly. She shook her head and her eyes were on the floor.

"Severus left," she whispered and shuffled her feet on the ground.

"What?" Charlie asked and grasped her upper arms and pulled her a little closer before his index finger was underneath her chin and he made her look up into his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Severus went to his home three days ago and hasn't returned home since," she replied and had to swallow around the lump in her throat. But she couldn't look down, he still had his finger underneath her chin and wouldn't allow her to look down. And his eyes were warm and kind and searching hers for something.

"But why?" he asked after a moment, softly, very softly.

"I'm not sure," she began hesitatingly, "It was the thought of Hermione invading his privacy, I think. But I don't know."

"Aleia...," he said slowly but she merely shook her head.

"It's alright, Charlie," she whispered. "He's just Severus."

xx

His feet carried him to their rooms. It was the Christmas holidays, most of the students would be gone – and even though it was after Christmas, he hoped that, somehow Hermione Granger would not be there again. Well, it would make sense. To him.

And the fact that Aleia hadn't informed him wasn't that surprising. She was, frankly put, mad at him. And he had been gone over New Year's. Hadn't even written an owl. Nothing. So yes, she was right in being mad at him. But that this did not change any of the facts. It did not change anything.

He unlocked and unwarded the rooms and stepped in. Everything looked just as it had when he had left.

Everything.

Absolutely everything. There was even this woman – Hermione – on his couch. She lay there, silently, covered by a light blue blanket and her eyes were wide open, staring up at the ceiling. She did not notice him entering. Not even did she look the other way when he stepped a little closer. She looked almost – dead.

If it wasn't for her chest rising and falling and her fingers moving over her swollen stomach, he would have thought so and he knew that his eyes had gone wide for a moment.

"Missus Weasley?" he asked softly and when she didn't react, he remembered that they had, some time ago, agreed on first names. "Hermione?" he then said and, slowly taking of his travelling cloak, he stepped even closer but that woman, that beautiful woman, still only stared up at the ceiling.

"Hermione?" he repeated and caught himself just in time. Caught himself before he made the one big mistake he was always trying to avoid. Caught himself before he could rush to her side and pull her into his arms and hug her and stroke her hair and console her and make it better. Somehow. But he caught himself in time and merely stood there, stock still, and his arms by his sides and one in his pocket and he watched her as she stared up there, so empty.

No, this wasn't Hermione. This was the shell of a woman and despite everything he knew, despite all the feelings he had, this was not Hermione and he wanted, had to, bring her back.

"Miss Granger," he began in his teaching voice and pulled himself up to full length. "Will you pay attention to what I have to say or do you think you already know all about this from books?"

And that – this – provoked a reaction. Her eyes darted around wildly for a moment before she caught his.

"Prof...erm, Severus," she asked and her voice sounded as if it hadn't been used much, raspy and husky and all that.

"Well, good to see you pay attention again," he said snidely. "Now, would you mind telling me where my wife is?"

She sat up slowly, her hand always on her stomach and looked around, confused, then shook her head. "I think the Burrow. But I don't really...didn't she left a note?"

He couldn't help but frown. "I only got back here," he said.

"Oh? Did you leave?"

He swallowed hard. "I was at my house for the last three days," he replied evenly.

"Three...but...just went, didn't you? Three days? Has it really been...I mean I...it can't be."

"I assure you, it has been three days," he replied evenly and took another look around the room. There was no note, nothing. "And you do not remember where my wife is?"

She shrugged again with one shoulder. "I think she brought the children to the Burrow but...it's hazy."

He nodded briefly and this time, looking at her, pale, her hair greasy, almost as greasy as his, and her clothes too large except over her stomach, he couldn't catch himself in time. He was by her side in two strides and against his better judgement, he had his hands on her cheeks and looked her in the eyes.

"Hermione, do you remember anything about the past three days? Anything at all?"

She nodded solemnly. "Bits and pieces."

"And did you eat?"

She shrugged again. "I think I did."

He got up and quickly removed his hands from her face. Not good, not good at all to touch her that way. Her cheeks were soft and warm and if he smelled his fingers now he would probably smell her on them and that wasn't good. Not good at all.

"Can you get up?" he asked and the cold edge was back in his voice again. He needed, desperately needed to retreat. Couldn't be too close.

"Yes," she said and her knees were obviously wobbly and he had to lend her an arm. He had to. Otherwise, she would have fallen down. He had no choice. She grabbed her arm and the next thing he knew was that she clung to him.

Her arms around him and her head on his chest and he couldn't let that poor woman fall and he held her up and had his arms around her and held her and just caught himself in time before he could hold her even tighter and before he could whisper all that stupid, soothing stuff in her ear that he had wanted to say to her.

xx

"It's alright, Charlie," she whispered. "He's just Severus."

"What does that mean?" he asked back, and held her by the arms. "Is he..."

She did not reply. She only smiled a little sadly and it was hard seeing her like this. So sad and it dawned on him that the Snapes marriage wasn't all it seemed to be.

"Aleia," he whispered and she swallowed and there was a tiny little tear escaping from her eye and he wasn't sure why he did what he did and why he reacted the way he reacted but a moment later, his lips were kissing the tear away and when she didn't pull back, when she did not move a single muscles, all of his resolve was gone, everything that he had thought about during the past days, every single argument against ever looking at her again was forgotten.

He bent down and held her and just – kissed her. His lips had descended on hers before the rational part of his brain could even protest and a moment later, he felt her responding, just responding and her lips were soft and warm and he tasted her suddenly and it was like a dream come true and his hold on her tightened and she was pressed flush against him.

Until –

She pulled away rapidly and stared at him, her beautiful eyes wide in shock. She shook her head, and before he could say a word, she had turned and ran – ran away from him into the snow, away from the Burrow and away from him.

_**xx**_


	9. Mourning

_**The usual disclaimers apply. And I don't own W.H. Auden either.**_

_**xx**_

He thought it was bad not to eat anything healthy. She had the baby to think about and a fishfinger sandwich was probably not the right kind of food for her unborn child. But that was what she had specifically requested from the house elf. And she seemed to be very hungry for the greasy, horrible mess and she wolfed it down without looking up once.

It was, despite the disgusting food she just ingested, quite the sight to behold. She licked her fingers from time to time and he really did not even want to think about what it did to him. And he was glad that she was looking at that sandwich and not at him. There was a moment, more than one, actually, when he was mesmerised by the sight of her, sitting opposite her at the table. He wasn't sure why he had put himself there, to be honest. It just seemed the right thing to do. To sit down. And to make sure she ate. To make sure she was fine. She and her child. Ronald Weasley's child.

"Thank you," Hermione said suddenly and she put one of her fingers in her mouth again, pursed her lips over it and slid it out slowly. It was insanity to sit there with her like that.

Wrong. It was insane and wrong and he got up and nodded at her and wanted to leave. Wanted to pick a book from the shelf and go into his bedroom to read. But unfortunately, as soon as he had walked to one of the stacks of books laying in front of books on the shelves, the door to his quarters was burst open and he spun around, ready to draw his wand – some reflexes were still that strong. He came, suddenly, eye to eye with his wife and that woman did not look completely alright.

Her eyes shone wildly, her cheeks were flushed and she wore the most curious expression around her mouth. Standing stock still, she seemed to take a moment to try and grasp the situation she was coming home to but without even a nod of the head, without saying a word, she rushed past him and past Hermione and went into her bedroom, the door not quite banging and not quite closing quietly behind her.

"Did I do something wrong?" Hermione asked quietly. "And where are my children?"

He turned away from the bookshelf and looked at her for a moment, lost, alone, at that table, "You should ask her," he replied, trying very hard to ignore every feeling inside of him.

But it all flared up again. Everything. All of this stupid wanting to help her through this, wanting to be by her side, wanting her to be fine, wanting her to smile again, when she looked at him half pleadingly, half panicky.

"Very well," he said snidely and without looking at her again – no, he couldn't do that – he strode straight into his wife's room – without knocking. And found her sitting at her vanity, her elbows on it, and her face in her hands.

"Aleia," he said coldly. "Your guest is wondering where her children are."

She spun around and looked at him and her eyes were full of tears. And that sight stirred nothing inside of him. Absolutely nothing and it frightened him. He had wanted to rush to Hermione's side immediately and his crying wife made him want to turn straight around and leave her room. That was not right. Severus swallowed hard and slowly approached her and he put a hand on her shoulder but said – nothing.

"They're still at the Weasleys," she explained and it sounded almost choked.

"And you left her here on your own?" he asked back. "When I returned, she was not responsive. And you simply went? How very responsible of you."

"Severus, I'm in no mood for this. If you're so worried about it, you take care of her," she spat and stood up, her hands crossed over her chest.

"You invited her here," he glared back.

"Severus, not now. Tell her that I have a migraine and need a nap," she turned around and her back was towards him.

"Aleia," he growled.

"No, Severus. I have a headache and I need a nap, please," she said quietly and pushed the robes off her shoulders.

xx

It was wrong. Wrong of her to throw him out when she should be angry and confront him about just leaving and confront him about his feelings for Hermione and confront him just in general – but she couldn't. She needed some time to think. And who would have thought that Severus would be there, standing in the middle of her bedroom when she had just wanted to think about that had happened.

And she needed to. Needed to explore what she was feeling and why she was feeling that way and why he had kissed her and why she had kissed back.

Was it just the fact that Severus was not paying attention lately? Well, he had, but only for a short while. And before that, their marriage had been closer to friendship than anything else. And Charlie had been so understanding and kind and his eyes had been beautiful and he was so worried and had asked immediately after her as well. Severus never asked. Severus always waited what she had to say. And Charlie was the complete opposite of Severus. And kind and his hug that other day had been different.

Well, for one, he hugged. Severus did not truly hug. He held. But he didn't hug, he didn't embrace. It was different. It was more that Severus was either very active in that hold on her, or very passive and had his arms limply by his sides. Charlie had just participated.

And then today, he had kissed her. And she had kissed back. And that had been so different. Nd wrong. Wrong. Wrong. It wasn't honestly that Severus was a bad kisser, on the contrary, but she was used to his kisses and even though she missed them these days, she couldn't help the weird tingling in her stomach thinking about Charlie's tentative brush across her lips and his slow deepening of it. So different from Severus. And so wonderful.

And so wonderful that she felt horribly guilty. Was a kiss cheating? The way she felt at the moment – yes. Because yes, yes, she felt guilty, but she also did not for the life of her wanted to forget how Charlie had felt hugging her and kissing her and stroking her arms and being so concerned. And that was wrong. Just wrong.

She threw herself on the bed and buried her head in her pillow. Not right. Not right. But so wonderful.

xx

She stood up slowly when he closed the door to their bedroom. There was another two doors and she wasn't sure what was behind those and she couldn't remember Aleia telling her about it. It didn't matter. She wasn't sure what she was doing in their rooms anyway. She should go somewhere else. Maybe ask the Headmistress or just go home.

But Severus had not minded her there. No, he had made her eat and had hugged her. And had understood that she had not felt comfortable talking to Aleia. And he had hugged her. It had pulled her back into reality, that hug had, had made her feel real for the first time since...He had just stood rooted to the ground and had slowly, pulled her there as well. And she wasn't sure how she had done it. But it had helped a lot.

She looked down at herself and looked closely at her stomach. It was large. Big. Her baby. Ron's baby. Severus was right. She had to take of the little one growing inside of her now. She wasn't allowed to be sloppy with eating and the rest. She would probably ask Severus for the password to the prefects bathroom. Take a bath. And read a bit.

Read a bit. She nodded to herself, then looked at her stomach again, her hand resting on it. "We'll find something to read, baby," she spoke softly to her hand, her stomach and slowly walked to the shelves. She only hoped that Severus would not mind her taking one and flipping through it.

There was a dark green one, looked old and battered wedged between large tomes about Transfiguration. And honestly, since Severus seemed like someone who sorted his books and since Aleia was the librarian at Hogwarts, she thought it was a book about Transfiguration. But it wasn't. There was no writing at all on the cover but it when she flipped through it, it was full of poems. Full of poetry. In a beautiful handwriting. Handwritten poetry in a hard-covered book.

Not at all what she had expected but this was the home of a married couple. And Aleia would seem the type to read poetry and to write out a book full of her favourites. But this was not what it was. Those were themed poems. Apparently, some time in her life, Aleia had lost someone close to her heart to the claws of death.

She took great care reading, the book light and heavy in her hand at the same time and she standing there, just next to the bookshelf. And her eyes, slowly filled with tears. Again.

xx

His book. The book he had made for Lily. After Lily's death. He hadn't seen those for over 20 years. Hadn't once touched it. A compilation of poetry that reminded him. He knew he should have thrown it out and Hermione had to pick that up from the depth of the bookshelf. He wasn't sure where he had put it. Probably somewhere between the boring Transfiguration books that neither he nor Aleia ever touched.

And she had it in her hand, slow, fat tears running down her cheeks when she noticed him coming back into the living room and she swallowed hard and bit her lip for a moment.

"I just found it. I hope Aleia won't mind," she said in a tear-choked voice.

"She won't," he replied and tried to keep his face, his voice neutral.

"But," she began again, "I found this."

She started reading, slowly, her voice emotional, soft, tears still running down her cheeks, and he understood why.

"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,  
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,  
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum  
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come."

"Why don't I know it, Severus?" she asked, looking up. "Or do I?"

"I don't know, Hermione," he replied and was surprised by how gentle he sounded. "It's W.H. Auden."

She nodded slowly, and continued.

"Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead  
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,  
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,  
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves."

She swallowed again, and he could see that she was forcing herself to read on and she got faster and faster and her voice even more choked and her hands were trembling and the book shook in her hands. His book. The book he had written for himself.

"He was my North, my South, my East and West,  
My working week and my Sunday rest,  
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;  
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong."

She sobbed twice and he so wanted to reach out and take the book from her, make her stop. "He was, Severus, he was. And he isn't any more," she cried softly and her breathing hitched but suddenly, she bit her lip, as if she had to read that poem, as if she had to finish it, as if it was the only thing that mattered now. She trained her eye back on the page.

"The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;  
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;  
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.  
For nothing now can ever come to any good."

The moment she finished, his book fell from her hands and her knees buckled and he couldn't help it. He couldn't let a pregnant woman fall on the floor – he was by her side immediately and just before she seemed to completely crash, he had her swept up in his arms and carried her to the couch. But this woman clung to him closely and had her arms wrapped tightly around his neck and she wouldn't let go when he wanted to put her on the couch. She just clung and he saw no other way than to sit on the couch and she suddenly on his lap and she cried into his shoulder and he hugged her. Just held her to him and he wished he could do this, just do this without feeling guilty.

And a moment later, as if she had smelled it, the door to his wife's bedroom opened and Hermione, with her dirty, greasy, matted hair had her face buried into his shoulder and his arms tightly around her, was still on her lap and Aleia – Aleia, his wife – only arched an eyebrow, before she spun on her heel, banged her bedroom door and he could just groan.

Just groan quietly and run his hand up and down Hermione's back consolingly.

_**xx**_


	10. May 1998

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

**May 1998:**

There were whispers first. Rumours. Hearsay. And truth be told, Hermione Granger was too exhausted, and too wound up, too giddy, really, to listen decently and to focus on anything at all. And even if she had heard those whispers, she would have told the whisperer, that she had seen him die. That Severus Snape could not possibly lie in the Hospital Wing because she had seen him take his last breath.

The whispers, however, grew louder and after at least a little sleep, on the floor in the Gryffindor common room, Harry on her left, Ron, holding her hand, on her right, she heard them. Heard the rumour, or whatever it was, that Madam Pomfrey was fighting for Severus Snape's life.

And no, she could not believe it. Especially, well, especially since there were so many things going on in her head at that moment. Ron and his kiss in the morning and the fact that he called her his girlfriend in front of everyone who wanted to hear it (and everyone who did not), the fact that there were huge bits of Hogwarts missing and that parts of the Forbidden Forest looked burned, the fact that she knew that there were still unburied bodies in the castle and wounded witches and wizards everywhere.

And something she could not wrap her mind around – the war was over. Voldemort was dead. Gone. Forever. All the Horcruxes destroyed. The battle over. And apparently, Severus Snape, probably Dumbledore's most faithful servant, had survived. Though how, she didn't understand and truth be told, the castle was a mess.

And still, there were the whispers and with the whispers and their growing volume came a nagging, niggling feeling at the back of her head. Ron was torn between grief for his brother and clinging to her because of that, and happiness that he finally had the girl of his dreams as his girlfriend. And Harry was still in a kind of shocked daze. He couldn't believe everything that had transpired. Being dead. And almost being forced to stay in the Hospital Wing until they noticed that he was fine. And that there were others who were wounded more badly than he was. Seeing the fallen.

Those two, however, did not seem to hear the whispers. Or maybe they did and were just too busy with themselves. And they certainly did not seem to have that niggling voice in the back of their heads. The niggling voice that said: Guilty. Guilty. Guilty.

Guilty for leaving him there without checking he was dead. Guilty for just assuming the man was dead. Guilty for just going away. Guilty for – not extending the same courtesy to him as he had to them. Helping. Protecting. Saving.

And as they walked along the corridors, down to the Great Hall – a way they had gone so often but had never looked more different – she heard another one of those whispers. He was apparently still on the brink of death. She knew, she had to go and see. Because honestly, she wasn't sure whether it was true at all.

"Ron?" she tugged on the hand that still firmly held his – a hand that had held hers since after she had changed and got ready that morning.

"What's up, 'Mione?"

"I want to run down to the Hospital Wing quickly. See if Madam Pomfrey needs some help," she fibbed and was spun into his arms.

"Are you sure?" he whispered gently against her lips – so close. "I'll come with you."

She shook her head – smiling. "No, it's fine. You go down and try to get some breakfast. I'll catch up with you later."

He kissed her immediately, deeply and left her breathless, spinning, smiling stupidly for a moment. Harry, walking beside them, was sniggering. She pulled away, out of his arms, and rolled her eyes at the two boys, shook her head and with a wave of her hand, she darted away.

Both of them knew that Hermione needed to help, that this was important to her – to know who lay in the Hospital Wing and whom she could help. She was always the person ready to help. Had always been.

"I couldn't have done it without her," Harry mused and stopped walking, running his right hand through his mop of hair.

"Hey mate, she's my girlfriend now," Ron grinned and elbowed him in the side. "But she is brilliant, isn't she?"

Harry grinned back, flung his arm over Ron's shoulder and together, the young man made their way towards food.

xx

Gingerly, Hermione Granger stepped into the Infirmary and immediately, the smell hit her. It was hot and maybe that intensified the stench of burned flesh, blood, bodies on the brink of death and Hermione felt herself almost stumbling back. It had not yet quite hit her. But there were people in there fighting for their life. There were people who would not make it. Who would be disabled afterwards. And she was still too much in shock, too much had happened so quickly that she could not judge whether this would change her and in what way.

"Hermione...I mean, Miss Granger, what are you doing here?" Poppy Pomfrey had stepped in front of her, and the mediwitch looked tired and exhausted and had dark circles underneath her eyes.

"Hermione, please," she smiled and took the older woman's hand on impulse. "I'm here to help."

"Help?" she asked, her eyes wide in surprise. "Erm, of course you can help. But are you..."

"Are you alone here?" Hermione asked, sense returning to her suddenly, reason taking over, "Do you have someone here to help you?"

Poppy Pomfrey nodded. "St Mungo's sent another healer but they're full as well. So many..." she looked and the usually so together woman had to swallow hard. She knew she was close to collapsing. Had stayed up all day and all night and had not eaten and had only had a sip of tea so many hours ago. Had tried to get yet another healer from the wizarding hospital but almost all the desperate, almost hopeless cases had been sent there. All but one. She could not let him go. It would kill him to be brought there. And it would make her live in shame and guilt for the rest of her life.

He had not come to her for medical help any more in that last year. And she had not trusted him. Poor boy had been all alone and he had played his part so well, none of them had known. He had fooled all of them. Couldn't imagine what kind of burden he had had to carry.

No, she would not let him go. And if it was the last thing she did in her lifetime. She would not let him go.

"Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione Granger asked suddenly and she grabbed the mediwitch by her elbow – she was swaying and was very, very pale. "You need to sit down. Eat something, drink something. Just tell me what to do."

She smiled gently. "They're all tended to and sleeping for now. Except, maybe..." she hesitated, unsure whether to let Hermione help Severus. Make sure he was alright. It was her job.

"I can help, Madam Pomfrey. Or I can get someone. But you're exhausted."

She nodded slowly and even more colour seemed to be draining from her face and Hermione stepped forward, wrapping her arm around the woman's waist to help her stand. "Just lay down for a minute. Is there a cot?"

Again, the mediwitch shook her head. "They're all taken.

"We'll transfigure something then," Hermione replied, trying to sound cheerful. Cheer that she didn't feel herself – and she wasn't sure she could help those wounded should someone wake. And she had only come to see if the rumours were true.

She had her wand in her hand within a split second and a chair was enlarged and made more comfortable. "Sit," she said and pushed the older woman into it. "The house elves are apparently already working again. Do you want me to call you one?"

She shook her head again. "I can't sit just yet," she stood up heavily and nodded towards a door that had not been there when Hermione had been in the infirmary last. "There are charms on him, Hermione. And if you in any way try to harm him, you will not get out of this room alive," she threatened suddenly.

Hermione gasped. "So it's true then?"

"Severus Snape," Poppy Pomfrey said coldly. "Yes. And nobody can harm him. So if you..."

The young woman shook her head quickly. "No. I want to help him. I shouldn't have left him...or should have gone back and I need to..."

"Left him?" she asked, frowning. "Left him where?"

Hermione took a deep breath and rapidly explained. Explained that they had not checked, that they had thought he was dead there. Killed by that snake. That they had not gone back to see if he was alive. That she felt horribly guilty. That she would never forgive herself if he wouldn't make it. And somehow, the thunderous face of the mediwitch had softened then.

"We all made mistakes where he was concerned," she said gently and a tear escaped her eye. "Go in then. There are potions on the cabinet that will need to be applied but I'll be up again by then."

"Just in case, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione asked softly, "when should they be applied?"

"In about two hours. But I _will_ be back then."

Hermione nodded and tried a little smile. I will take good care of him, I promise."

"Go in then."

She took a deep breath and with a last look at the mediwitch, she opened the new door and was met by a sight she had not expected.

Severus Snape had always been pale and sallow. But him lying there like dead, like he had in the Shrieking Shack, she had not expected that. Those white sheets pulled up to his chin and his arms on top of them, resting by his sides and his hair matted by blood, his neck completely covered by white cloth. And honestly, there wasn't much difference between the stark white sheets and his skin.

She had to shake her head, swallow, before she could pull the chair up to his bed and sit by his side. He was, yes, he was breathing. His chest was rising steadily. Slowly, but steadily.

He was stretched out to full length on the bed, she could see the outline of his legs, but despite everything, he did not seem as tall as he had every other time she had seen him and she wondered why she had never before even tried to see him as that kind of human being, someone who needed to sleep and who needed the loo and someone who had feelings.

Despite everything, nobody could be so cold inside. And he must have suffered terribly with nobody there to talk to. With nobody there to trust him. And he had been forced to kill someone who had liked him. He had fooled them all, even her. And she always prided herself in seeing things a little early, knowing everything.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice choked. "I'm so sorry, Professor Snape."

But he didn't sit up. He didn't berate her for being a foolish Gryffindor. He just lay there, his hands by his sides and she remembered what she had seen on the television, a BBC documentary about people in a coma. She didn't know whether he really was in a coma, but the BBC had said that talking to comatose persons, and holding their hands or touching them was comforting. And so, slowly and carefully, she looked at the large, pale hand for a moment before she pulled it into her own hand, shifting the chair closer.

"I should have checked, Professor Snape. I should have gone back and make sure that what we all thought was true, was really true. And it wasn't and I will never ever forgive myself that I didn't. I'm so sorry."

But he just lay there. Quietly.

xx

"Dear, I think it's time to go," Poppy Pomfrey spoke and there was a warm hand on her shoulder. "Your boyfriend is out there again."

Hermione shook her head. "His eyelids fluttered a little earlier."

"You have been here for three days straight," the mediwitch said gently. "And the Misters Weasley and Potter think you're working yourself into exhaustion."

"Do they know I sit here?" she asked, knowing that she had spent too much in that quiet room, talking to Professor Snape. Three days. Every day. From after breakfast until just before dinner. She knew it was stupid. She knew that she should help the others rebuild the castle. And she knew she should help Madam Pomfrey with the other injured. But something compelled her to stay. Something compelled her to stay and talk to this man. To hold his hand and stroke it and even sometimes read to him. Or just talk to him. Anything. Stroke his hand. Make sure he was still breathing.

Because – she had left him. Left him alone. Left him to die. To rot. And nothing she could ever do would repair the damage she had done. They had done. And she had not even told the boys. They knew now, as everyone did, that he was alive. But she hadn't truly dared to tell them that she sat with him.

Ron still thought he was a git. And Harry seemed somewhat biased and thoughtful. And then there was Ginny now. And Harry who ogled her. And Ginny who ogled back. Not long and they'd be an item again. She knew. But she could not tell them that there was suddenly a strange fascination radiating off that man. And that stroking his calloused fingers, changing his bandages and pouring potions on the nasty looking wounds, was something soothing. Made her feel like she was atoning for what she had done, or not done, in the Shrieking Shack. And atoning for the fact that she had thought him evil. A Death Eater. Soothing her own guilty conscience. But she knew that she would have to apologise to him as soon as he woke up. And his eyelids had – briefly – fluttered. She could not go now.

"It's nearly time for dinner, Hermione. Go and eat," Poppy said again and she knew she had to get the girl out for a moment. Needed to wash him and shift him. And to be honest, she had no idea whether Severus Snape would ever wake up. She had done all she could. But he seemed to be fighting an internal battle. A battle that he would either win – or lose.

"Alright," the girl replied and stroked his hand again before she gently put it down. "I'll come back."

"Yes, of course," she said and smiled. "But you need to watch yourself as well. Take tomorrow off. Spend it with your new boyfriend and come back the day after tomorrow."

Hermione frowned, then shrugged. She had not seen an awful lot of Ron – and despite the feelings she had, feelings she did not understand, apart from the admiration for the Professor, she longed to see her boyfriend. Still sounded odd though. "I will. Thank you, Madam Pomfrey."

The older woman smiled. "I think Poppy is more appropriate now."

xx

It hurt. His neck hurt. And he felt stiff. As if he had not moved for a long time. And suddenly, there was a voice. A voice he knew.

"Oh Severus," the voice said and while he tried to open his eyes, he could feel something, someone, taking his hand, stroking it. "Severus, wake up now. You're safe. The monster is gone. You survived."

Poppy Pomfrey. Madam Pomfrey. That was the voice. And she sounded kind, gentle. As she had done before that awful night. She sounded like a voice he wanted to hear in that moment. But he did not understand the words.

He had been dead. He had stood in the light. He had waited for something to happen – heaven, hell, elysium, styx. He had waited and waited. And nothing had happened. He had just stood and waited.

And now there was a voice, pulling him back and he dared, slowly, to open his eyes. White ceiling. Lamps. Hospital Wing.

He tried to sit up immediately but there was a wave of dizziness and his legs felt very, very stiff and his back felt stiff and hurt. And his neck. It burned.

"Don't sit up now and try not to speak, Severus," she bent over him and he looked into the smiling face of the mediwitch and he honestly did not know how he felt. But he had survived. He had, miraculously, survived. And the kind, kind woman was kind to him again. "You were seriously hurt by that snake and it will take a while to heal. Please nod if you understand what I say."

He nodded slowly and Poppy felt a surge of joy wash over her. She couldn't hold back on the tears and hugged him as best as she could while he was in his lying position. She had him. She had fought – he had fought – and they had won.

"I'm glad you're here now," she whispered softly, kissed his cheek and dropped a kiss on his forehead.

xx

He made sure Poppy knew that nobody was to see him. He told her that he wanted to get well on his own and that he didn't want visitors. Poppy Pomfrey wasn't surprised by this.

But she felt sad for Hermione. That poor girl had left only moments before Severus had woken up. And she had never dared to tell him that she had sat with him.

He had never found out.

_**xx**_


	11. Sin

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

She had decided, when she had found herself leaking tears and snot on Severus's robes, that it could not go on like that. And that moment, about a month ago, she had pulled herself up. She blushed, had apologised about a hundred times, or even more often to him – and had gone straight to the Headmistress.

And since then, about four weeks ago, she had her own rooms at Hogwarts. And seemed to permanently live there now. Rosie in her dorm, Hugo with her. The baby in her belly kicking often. No, she had sort of caught herself but she couldn't bring herself to return to the house she had lived in with Ronald. And at Hogwarts, there were always people. Always someone to talk to, Poppy Pomfrey, Minerva, Aleia, anyone, really. Severus, if he was willing which wasn't the case often. In fact, Severus acted a bit strangely since she had spoiled his robes with snot and tears. He seemed to avoid her.

And yet, Aleia had insinuated that their marriage was on the rocks. Or rather, Hermione gathered, at a dead end. And Aleia unhappy. And probably that was why Severus avoided her. And not only avoided her, but avoided everyone.

Still, she needed to talk to people occasionally and most of those at Hogwarts were willing to lend her an ear. From time to time, she went to the Burrow, brought the children there, or went to see Harry and Ginny. But as much as it pained her, those people, as much as she loved them, dragged up too many memories. And the only one by her side, the only one who seemed to support her, was Charlie. And he was always the one rescuing her.

No, she knew she needed to deal with this without the rest of the Weasleys. They were all so immersed in their own grief and while she wanted to help, wanted to console, she could not.

It was simply a matter of getting through this time and pushing the pain back. And further back every day.

xx

There had been no conversation between them for the past two weeks. A fight before that, nasty and mean. Aleia knew that her husband could hurt when he wanted to. And it seemed there, he had wanted to. It had nothing to do with her growing feelings for Charlie or his avoidance of Hermione – it was just them. The two of them not getting along any more. And her completely losing her love for that man.

And the fight had been about losing respect. They both had. A lot.

For two weeks now, silence. He stayed in his office late, she stayed in the library late or spent time with Hermione. The poor woman seemed to have caught herself. Something seemed to have snapped into the right place again – or maybe, she was trying her hardest, to deal with it. And that couldn't be easy but Hermione was brave – and smart. And she talked, when she had to, was silent when she had to. And at least, she took care of herself now. Ate decently and always stroked her stomach, even talked to it from time to time. And it had all changed the day Severus had held her and had let her cry in his arms, sitting on her lap.

Only – with the time and their fight in between, she doubted that there was something between them. Everyone in the castle gossiped. And the only victims of of gossip at the moment were Severus and herself. And that had made him pull back. Pull back into the shell of his – and into the world of books.

But with Severus – that was at an end. She just didn't have it in her – yet – to leave him. Wasn't sure how to do it and still keep her job. Even after all those years, she was more of an outsider than him. He knew the castle, he knew the people better, and she was just the librarian. The person having to guard the books and that she did.

She was, after all, the wife of a war hero. And did not dare, yet, to leave him.

Only – there was another man on her mind. Another man she had not seen in a month. And another man's kiss she still dreamed about.

And a man she hoped would not be at the Burrow today. A man she longed to see – and then not to see. And all because she had promised Hermione to bring the children there. But really, she understood that she had difficulties going there still. And so, because she had no apparent reason not to, she had agreed to take Rose and Hugo. And if he was there – she would just keep away and leave as soon as the children were settled.

xx

Technically, he knew that his marriage was over. But he had vowed to stay with her, for better, for worse, in good times and in bad. And he had never ever broken a vow and had no intention of doing so. He had spent worse times than being married to someone who did not talk to him. He had a good life and he would not be stigmatised by a divorce. Or worse, cheating on his wife. Aleia was his wife. And he would not let her go easily either. Despite the fact that he still suspected her of falling in love with someone else. Or being in love with someone else. If she wanted to leave, she would have to fight for leaving. Even if they had not exchanged a single word within the last two weeks.

Not that he needed conversation. He could do jolly well without it. It was absolutely no problem for him. And she seemed to talk just enough with everyone in the castle. And especially Hermione. Every time, he saw her, she was with his wife and that stomach was ever growing, and her hand always on it. It had been a magnificent moment when he had been allowed to hold her, when she had cuddled to him, when she had let him console her. It was a moment that was burned into his memory and something he would hold dear until the end of his days.

He loved Hermione. But he was a man who stood by his word and had always done. And that was the end of the matter.

Exiting his bedroom, he hoped that his wife had not left hers yet, that she was still asleep. He wanted to go for a brisk walk before breakfast and it was too early, usually, for her to be up. But she was temperamental lately. And unpredictable. And who knew what she was up to. Not that it mattered. It was Saturday and he would spent it in his lab, brewing. Soothing, that. He could focus on the potion in front of him and could forget the rest.

He quickly left his rooms – happy that he had not seen his wife.

xx

The Burrow looked as it had four weeks ago when she had been last kissed. It stood just as crooked and held together by magic as it had the first time, she had seen it – her hand had been in Severus's then and he had not been ashamed to take her there. He had kissed her quickly on the spot they had apparated to. What good times those had been. A long time ago.

And Aleia was ashamed to even think that she longed for another man.

"Come on, children," she said, forcing the thoughts away and her eyes peeled on the frozen ground. And bent her head even further, when she heard Hugo next to her cry out.

"Uncle Charlie!"

No. She had to get away. Rose left her side as well and ran after her brother and she hesitated a moment too long. A moment too long before she turned around.

"Aleia!" Charlie called and he heard him say something to the children before he seemed to sprint to her side.

"Aleia," he said again, by her side, his hand suddenly at her elbow. "Don't run."

"Charlie, I..." she did not dare to look at him. Her shoes, black, sensible, were shiny and the hems of her robes dirty.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. "I am sorry but I don't regret what happened." And he certainly did not waste any time in letting her know. And plunging right in. Not like that husband of hers. Quite a nice change, if she was honest with herself. And the hand felt good on her elbow and she wanted to lean in and let him hug her again.

No, she was just craving any kind of physical contact. Hadn't had any, really, apart from a hug from Hermione. Oh, what was the use of lying to herself? She wanted him – this man – to hug her.

"Charlie," she replied – and knew she sounded rather helpless. "I'm married."

"I know," he whispered, "but so unhappy, aren't you?"

She nodded tiredly and felt tears – again – pricking in her eyes.

"What happened, Aleia?" he asked softly and turned her, put his index finger underneath her chin and gently made her look up in his face.

She swallowed and shook her head. "We had a fight about basically nothing about two weeks ago," she whispered, "and haven't talked since."

He did not answer – he did not say a word, he did not smile, he merely pulled her into his arms and she gave in. She just gave into the urge. Couldn't help it. With a sigh, she let herself go limp into his arms.

"It'll be okay," Charlie said suddenly in her hair. And with that, he apparated. With her in his arms. And she did not fight, she wanted to go with him. Wanted him to take her away and during the apparition, she even put her head on his chest. And felt so content doing this.

xx

This woman would be his downfall. And to apparate her to his flat, this was insanity. But she had just confessed that her marriage was rotten.

And she looked around, only slightly puzzled – and let not go of him. She still had her arms around her waist and her head was back on his chest after a moment.

"Aleia," he whispered, couldn't help but to say her name.

"Charlie this is not a good idea," she said, looking up into his eyes and before he could ask – before he could speak, she had pushed herself up and had crashed her lips against his.

He wanted to protest, wanted to tell her that he was honestly in love with her but that this was not right. That she was hurt and vulnerable. And that kissing him was the wrong way.

But then – her tongue swept into his mouth and caressed his and her fingers undid his buttons deftly and he couldn't think any more. And pulled her hard to him and just did what he had longed to do for such a long time.

xx

She couldn't go to the Weasleys. Not today. She needed some time to think. And then there was the stack of newspapers she wanted to go through. Hadn't seen any since...Ron had died. She felt ready to do this. Still didn't know who had done it. Had been so deep in her – grief – that she had not cared. Not really.

Up until that moment.

And she didn't have to look through many Daily Prophets to get her answer. It was the second from the top, actually. Only a short note on the 37th page. Still searching for the murderers of Ronald Weasley.

There was a sharp stab of pain in her chest. 8 weeks and they still had no clue who had done it? That couldn't possibly be.

She made no conscious decision to get up and run from her rooms. Her legs merely carried her, carried her from her rooms, down the stairs, her hand on her belly protecting her baby, down another flight of stairs. And she knew she was on her way to the dungeons.

Yes, Severus. Severus was honest, he was reasonable. He would tell her the truth about all this. He would know and he wouldn't mollycoddle her. He would be honest with her.

And it was Saturday. Aleia had said that on Saturdays, he was always brewing in his private lab and she remembered where that was. He would be honest and she needed honesty.

Especially if those imbeciles could not even find the murderers of her husband. He would help. He always did. He was always there when she truly needed someone. When they had truly needed someone.

xx

She smiled and stretched languidly, her hand wandering from his stomach to his chest, stroking him. One quick glance was enough to know that he absolutely feared her reaction.

But all the doubts were gone. Within the last 45 minutes or so, every doubt had gone from her mind. And she would deal with the guilt later. For now, she only wanted to enjoy. If Severus did not want her any more – here was someone she was falling in love with – and how obviously did.

"No regrets, Charlie," she whispered and pressed a kiss on his chest before she settled comfortably against him. "I don't regret a moment."

"Not now," he replied pensively.

"No. No regrets," she smiled and crawled up his body, kissing him deeply.

"Aleia, I'm..."

"Charlie no," she frowned. "Please just let's enjoy this moment."

He sighed deeply and wrapped her into his arms. "Alright," he whispered and sniffed her hair. "I can't honestly say that I regret it either," he added and held her tightly.

No. No regret. And for now, no guilt. None at all. Severus did not love her, did not touch her, did not talk to her. And the sex with Charlie had been so different. There was tenderness in every touch, not just raw need and lust. She had felt so cherished. She still felt cherished wrapped in his arms and being stroked by him. She felt that he felt something for her. It radiated off him, it showed in every touch, every word. And that was something she had gone without for too long.

She sighed and buried her face in his chest, kissing it again. Every word now was too much. But she wanted this. Even if it was wrong, even if Severus ended up hating her, even if she was frowned upon by everyone. Right now, none of that mattered. Just his skin on hers mattered, just him touching her. He was all it mattered.

xx

There was a loud knock on the door, more of a bang, really, and he jumped. People barely came to see him and if they did, it was for an emergency. And so, Severus rushed to the door and pulled it open. There stood Hermione, breathless, pale, her chest heaving.

"Hermione, what happened?" he asked immediately, worriedly and she pushed past him, her arm brushing against his and stood in the middle of the lab, both of her hands supporting her stomach.

"Why haven't they found the people who did this to Ronald yet?" she asked breathlessly and he understood. So far, it had gone completely unnoticed – for her – that her late husband's killers were still on the loose. She had just not seemed interested until now, apparently.

"I don't know," he replied honestly. "They didn't make it public."

She bit her lip. "They have to be caught," she said suddenly, fiercely and he was by her side immediately.

"Yes," he replied solemnly. "They have to be caught. But not by you." When she merely glared, he continued. "You can't go hunting those wizards."

"And why not?" she huffed.

He couldn't help the smirk that appeared on his face, and, meeting her glare, he pointed at her stomach, and the smirk turned into a smile when she only rolled her eyes.

_**xx**_


	12. Determination

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Hermione Granger was a war heroine. There was no doubt about it in Wizarding Britain. Even twenty years after the end of the war, everyone knew her name, or her names – Hermione Granger, Hermione Weasley. Everyone had grieved with her when she had lost her husband. She wasn't on a chocolate frog card but she was famous enough and her name was known.

Such as it is, well-known people often find that there are perks in their lives. They get things, appointments quicker than the average John Wizard.

And besides, Hermione Weasley had worked, before Rosie had been born and after Hugo had been old enough to be sent to a nursery, in Law Enforcement. She had only stopped after her husband had died. She wasn't sure she would ever return but she had naturally still ties there.

So, it cost Hermione Weasley one owl to her former supervisor Iuristidas Kyriosteles, Greek by birth, Englishman by choice, and not even four hours later, two owls had brought her a large, cardboard box, carried between them. There had been a note pinned to the box – a note saying that he was sorry, very sorry, but that he understood her wish to be doing this and that it might even be of help.

After all, Hermione Weasley was still employed – and paid – by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and nobody in that Department wanted to see her go indefinitely.

And so she sat now, the box on the table in front of her, she on a chair, her hand, as always, protecting the baby growing in her stomach. Not long now until he or she was due. Four weeks, maybe five if it was as lazy and slow and cosy in Mummy's belly as the other two had been.

She would use that time. In a sensible, meaningful way. She would prepare herself. Even if she would not allow anyone else, especially Severus, to know about it. She was about to start preparing herself to find those men that had killed her husband.

Hermione Granger, Weasley was an ever practical woman. She believed many things could be learned from books – and should be learned before venturing out onto an adventure. She had made many experiences in which the knowledge of books had helped her stay alive. Had helped her and her friends. And this, this was no exceptions.

So, she proceeded systematically. From the newspapers, she knew that there had been men. And probably with a dark background. From Harry, she had heard that there were probably some kind of new wizarding drugs involved.

That narrowed the field she was searching down dramatically. So in the box before her were files of all known drug dealers including, if possible, cross references. She would have preferred to go to the archives herself – but in her current condition, it wasn't really possible. She would have to roll in there in any case.

And then there was the matter of Severus Snape being suddenly so protective of her. Well, not suddenly-suddenly, but after she had stormed his lab, had told him, more or less, she wanted to go hunting those wizards, he kept a close eye on her. It was sweet really, and if she didn't know him so well, or as well as one could know Severus Snape, she would have said he had a crush on her but doing an admirable job of hiding it. But of course that was utter nonsense.

So she just sat there for a moment, a hand on her belly and the other fingering the box, albeit a little nervously before she cleared her throat.

"Alright, baby," she said softly to the baby inside of her, "let's do it. And you hurry up so we can do some justice."

The unborn, oddly enough – replied by kicking her and she took that as a sign. With her wand, she opened the box and all of a sudden, all types of papers, rolls of parchment, muggle post-its, other form of paper, were overflowing from the box.

"Oh dear, baby. Looks like we have out work cut out for us in the next couple of days," she spoke and was surprised herself that there was so many magical people involved in drugs. It was a new topic for her, to be honest. Abuse of potions, yes, she had heard of, especially since it was so easy for wizards to get any kind of opiate. But this new one – she had to read up on it. More like a synthetic one, akin to something like LSD, probably. Only more dangerous, addictive, changed the person – and in most cases, fatal. Especially young witches and wizards took it – and we not aware of what it could do to them. The prices had sky-rocketed and there was a massive demand after it. People who could make it made a fortune.

That, she had found out through magazines and newspapers. And Hermione Granger honestly believed that Harry and Ronald had surprised some of those dealers while they were at it. She would just have to check the files, would try and find something, anything.

Even if it was just clutching at straws – it was something to do.

xx

"When will I see you?" Charlie asked, embracing her one last time before she had to leave.

"I don't know," she sighed, knowing she would have to tell him the truth, "Severus has been a little suspicious because I worked on my Occlumency and kept him out of my head."

"What?" he asked, outraged, "And?"

She shook her head. "Seems like I figured out how to do it, actually. Or do it better really. He couldn't get through but of course that made him more suspicious."

"Did you have a fight?"

Again, she shook her head, "No. He just walked away again."

"Why don't you..."

"Charlie," she groaned. She didn't know why she hadn't told him, why she hadn't left him. She knew she was in love with that man before her, holding her, and not with the man at Hogwarts, probably now grading his second years. She didn't know why she didn't just walked up to him, the man at Hogwarts, that is, and told him that she had no feelings left for him and that she would move out and wanted a divorce. She did not know. All she knew was that this, with Charlie, being with him in those stolen hours, secretly, was exciting, was fun, was what she had longed for. As the beginning with Severus had been – kind of. Not quite. And she did not want to lose that with Charlie. She did not want to lose that man holding her. And at the same time, she knew she was to lose so much more when she divorced Severus. Selfish, very selfish, yes. And dreadful and not fair and it made her a slut and an adulteress. It made her one of those women she had never wanted to be. But she couldn't help herself.

Besides – it had only been three days since she had broken her marriage vows. Three days – meeting with Charlie for the third time (no wonder Severus was suspicious, really), but she wasn't sure what Charlie wanted from her. He had some kind of feelings for her, yes, but she was already in a marriage with a man who had never loved her but had only lusted after her. She would not enter another serious relationship like this – not when it could cost her her reputation.

"I'm sorry," she whispered and kissed him gently. "It's not the right time yet."

He nodded merely and kissed her back – made her feel somewhat – guilty. Guilty towards the man kissing her – not the man at Hogwarts.

xx

Hermione Granger was nothing if not determined. Unfortunately for Severus Snape, he was very well aware of that fact. And he disliked the fact that he knew. Because at the same time, he was very much aware of the fact that she would not let go of her idea of catching those wizards that had killed her husband.

And as such, he knew that he would have to be quicker than her. For a simple, very simple reason. He was in love with Hermione Granger. Whose name was now Weasley but he didn't really care. She was Hermione in his head. And since he had only ever loved one other woman before said Hermione, he knew he could not lose her. Love her from a distance, he could. But lose her to death, he could not. He did not know what it would do to his minute heart to lose someone he loved to evil wizards.

So the truth of the matter was, that he was not going to go find the wizards that had killed her late husband for her. Not solely. He was doing this as much for himself as he did for her. Because he would not survive, probably, to see another love die.

No, he had made some discreet inquiries, nothing too obvious, obviously, and had found out that it was most likely that those men who had done this to Ronald Weasley, had been in the sprouting new business. Selling and buying a new kind of drug. Something the Wizarding World had not seen before – a drug that needed a bit of brewing, a bit of alchemy, a few spells.

Immerschoen, it was called. Though who had given the drug an idiotic German name, he did not yet found out and it did not truly matter.

Besides, he had shown enough, too much, worry for her in the last few days. He would have to be careful. Not let her know. But how could he make sure she ate enough, took enough care of herself without watching her and telling her? He knew it wasn't right – he knew he had never done it before with anyone else – but he felt sometimes as if he had no other choice.

But just to see her smile again – it was worthwhile. It made it all worthwhile.

His wife, on the other hand, acted quite suspiciously. Poor woman had never quite understood Occlumency and yet it seemed that during the last days – or weeks, maybe – she had grown massive shields around her thoughts. And no subtle walls either. Solid, hard, supposed to keep him out. That alone was remarkably curious.

She had to hide something, that was his simple solution, and sooner or later, he would figure it out. Sooner or later – he knew his wife – she would slip. And he would be there to witness it.

Still, he thought as he made his way to the Great Hall for dinner (detention with a 4th year afterwards), he would act the way he always acted. Towards his wife – and towards Hermione – and towards everyone else. He had the role of the greasy, mean, bastard-git down par. He would play it. Would play it perfectly and would hide his minute heart between layers and layers of black clothing and biting sarcasm. Even towards Hermione.

Especially since she never took dinner in the Great Hall. Except – except now.

Severus could not believe his eyes. He did not trust what he saw and for a brief moment, thought about seeing an Occularist, or even a muggle eye doctor. For a brief moment only, he thought his mind had gone on a break and his fantasies had taken over.

Hermione sat on the chair his wife usually occupied (with Aleia nowhere in sight – probably still at the library – or even somewhere else) and talked quietly to the Headmistress, leaning over the chair he usually sat on.

No, she couldn't be there. It made him feel all weak inside seeing her there and he longed, just longed to stride up there and well. On the one hand, he wanted to sweep her up in his arms and kiss her until she swooned – on the other hand, the one protecting his minute heart, he wanted to rush up there, tell her to get lost and to never show her face again.

Both options extremely stupid. And extremely unlike him. Well, the second one probably not. Still, no. He had let her see that he worried about her a little and his usual manner of scaring and shooing away would not work.

He would just sit down and eat and go.

"Severus," the Headmistress greeted and Hermione, there, even smiled a little when he came to the table.

He bowed his head slightly, and found himself seated between those two women. Most uncomfortable, to be honest. Still, he merely sat and put a bit of food on his plate (less food, quicker to eat, out of the Great Hall faster) when his eyes fell on a bit of parchment Hermione had on her lap.

No need of an Occularist or a muggle eye doctor. Absolutely no need. His eyes were fine and his forehead suddenly put itself into even deeper lines. He knew his voice sounded dangerous, threatening, scary.

"What is that?" he asked and pointed at the little bit of parchment. On her lap.

"Erm," she blushed profoundly. "Just something I read under the table."

With long fingers, he plucked it from her lap – careful, very careful not to touch her – and looked at it decently.

_Ernest Tonvas. _

_b. 12/10 1985, London. _

_Known user of Immerschoen. Connections to Vladimir Jokabov through college. Connections to Angela Samuel – girlfriend. _

_Vladimir Jokabov_

_b. 7/31 1984, St Petersburg, Russia_

_User of Immerschoen. Attended Durmstrang, college in London. Connections to Ernest Tonvas, Miroslav Walz, George Greene, Angela Samuel – ménage à trois? _

_Angela Samuel_

_b 9/14 1986, Johannesburg, South Africa_

_User of Immerschoen? Connections _

And there it stopped – immediately and he could not help but glare at her, glare and shake his head.

"You can't stop, can you?"

She shrugged and her eyes grow cold, flinty, really. "Do you think I will sit around and wait for someone to even have the remotest idea who might have happened to kill my husband?"

"Yes. Because you have the baby to think about," he replied hotly and knew he shouldn't have said it. He was showing it – too much.

"What's it to you?" she asked suddenly. "Why do you care?"

He had to decide. Quickly. In a split second. One way or another. Though – frankly, there wasn't one way or another. There only was one. He could only give her one answer.

"I don't," he said and his voice was back to the greasy, evil git, "Get yourself and your baby killed. It won't make a difference to me."

_**xx**_


	13. October 1998

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

**October 1998**

If there was one thing, Minerva McGonagall could do, it was set her face into stern lines and making people do what she wanted them to do. Even if it took a little time.

And as people went, Severus Snape had always been the person she needed to work on most to get him to do what she wanted. But being a former student of hers, and a colleague for many, many years, and after she had apologised about a billion times for almost killing him, she had set her charms on him. It would be good for him to go out. It would be good for the other people to see him like this.

And Molly hosting a dinner at the Burrow, that was the perfect way of getting all of them together. And more than one person had asked her to bring him with her. Not only Molly and Arthur, who were just working through the loss of their son, but also, most notably, Harry Potter.

She knew it was important to him to have the last link to his parents there on a somewhat less than friendly, less than hostile level. And Severus had recuperated, Severus had begun teaching again, Severus was back to his snarky, annoying, greasy git ways. But now that all of them knew what he had done, people had begun to see him differently. But she wouldn't tell him that.

And neither did he really notice. And much less – Severus didn't care. He did the things he was doing. He taught, he more or less slept through staff meetings, he handed out detentions like other teachers instructions, he and his robes billowed through the hallowed, renovated halls of Hogwarts, always looking for Gryffindors out after curfew. In short, he hadn't changed and he absolutely saw no reason to do so. Just because there were two scars added on his body and just because students knew that he had been a spy, and probably knew he had once loved. It wasn't as if he was impressed by someone knowing.

No, he just ignored it and treated everyone the same as he had before he had been Headmaster, colleagues, students.

And just because Minerva thought she could pull everyone on her side didn't mean that he would walk into her trap. Despite everything she thought, Severus would not be convinced to socialise with Gryffindors.

Especially not those model Gryffindors, the Weasleys, and Godric's golden _godsent_ Potter (if he had known him) with his two _brave_ little friends. Absolutely did not want to go. Not even when Minerva, thinking she could just convince him, stood there with her hands pushed into her sides and glared at him. The master of glaring was still he, Severus Snape.

"If you don't come with me," she said with that high-pitched hag-like voice of hers, "I'll drag you."

"Try," he drawled and sat back on the chair behind his desk. What he had not expected and what Severus Snape had not expected either, was her drawing her wand and training it on her.

"You. Come. With. Me. Now. Or. Else." She came closer, her wand still on him. Sometimes, she knew, he needed to be forced. And this was one of those cases. She was very very adamant on having him go. He only stayed in the dungeons, and let nobody close these days. Never left the castle, even refused to escort the students to Hogsmeade. He got out even less than before the war. And that wasn't right. He had to go to the Burrow.

Minerva McGonagall blinked quickly, her mouth set in stern lines and Severus Snape met her glare when suddenly, quite suddenly, his ink bottle turned bright red and gold. His glare grew worse – and his quill was suddenly red and gold tartan.

"It will only get worse," she hissed and pointed her wand directly at his robes. "Come. With. Me."

xx

The room was stuffed with people and everyone was chatting more or less happily – all but one. Severus Snape sat, sulking in a corner next to the fireplace, waiting for a good moment to escape. And opposite him, were Ronald and Hermione, and to an outsider, it seemed that they were merely chatting. But that was only because Hermione had made it abundantly clear to Ron that she would walk out if he began yelling or let anyone know that they were fighting.

Only – Severus Snape had been a spy once. For the largest part of his life, actually, and he heard the hissing and muttering and whispering. It wasn't clear to him why they were fighting, and it wasn't clear to them why they were fighting, to be honest. It was just a pointless argument about pointless things, probably, or had started that way. Now t was about the fact what to do on the weekend and whether to go out or not. And it was about the weekend after this. Not even this weekend. But Ronald wanted to go out, and Hermione wanted to stay in. But actually neither of them were quite sure how they would feel then, and as such, the argument was quite pointless.

Maybe this was why Severus did not understand what they were fighting about. But he tried not to look at them too much n any case. He was observing the room, and listening to them. Observing whether he could leave, and listening whether there was something of interest going on. Not that it was. And he knew it and Hermione knew it.

This relationship with the Weasley, Severus knew, was getting her nowhere. And though he disliked her quite a lot, and disliked the Weasley a lot, and disliked Potter probably even more, but listening now to him telling her she was a swot who only wanted to do more studying on the weekend and hence wanting to stay in and her making fun of him for wanting to see yet another quidditch match which would be just as boring as the last and next one, it was clear as day that they wouldn't last.

And he thought that without being judgemental, without thinking that one was better than the other. He just didn't care enough about them. Her the swot and him the lazy person. Their interests just didn't overlap. And the way she threw around with big, polysyllabic words, and him answering with monosyllabic grunts, it just didn't fit. It was merely in observation and he made a bet inside his head – it wouldn't last that much longer, said the one half of him, the other half, suggested, sneeringly, a fairy tale happy ending. But he didn't care honestly.

But he risked a glance from the corner of his eye at the two of them. She had her hair piled up untidily on her head, and Weasley was just as red-headed as ever. And suddenly, they stopped talking and he saw him, from the corner of his eyes, grabbing her thigh and her arm and pulling her closer, but she pushed him back by putting her hands on his chest, then she was pulled closer again and she gave in, didn't want to struggle too much, and just let him kiss her.

Yes, she just let him kiss her and even kissed back after a moment. He had a way of ending those little arguments and she liked them.

Neither of them had noticed Severus Snape watching and listening and none of the guests at the Burrow noticed him arching his eyebrows but one person, only one person, noticed how he wanted to get up and out. Just slip out and she was about to prevent this.

And so Molly Weasley pulled herself up to her not so remarkable length and all her width and breadth and with her eyebrows raised just as his had been a moment before, she stood in front of the fireplace and only shook her head, smiled at him and put a hand on his arm.

"Not yet, Severus Snape," she said gently but determinedly.

"I have a delicate potion brewing," he answered but Molly only laughed. She knew as well as he did that it was only a lie, only an escape.

"It will do you good to stay with people for a while and actually talk to some."

"Don't you mother me," he snapped and wanted to push her aside but she merely stood there, smiling, rooted to the spot and maybe it was her solidness, maybe it was because this was her house and she could just command her power like this, but whatever it was (and truth be told, it was only determination) he could not push her aside.

"Sit. Eat. Drink," she commanded and he had just about enough from women commanding him around, when Arthur Weasley stepped up behind him, and slowly, put his hand on his shoulder.

"Severus, would you join me in a drink in the kitchen?" he asked and Severus nodded automatically. He was the one he could stand the most and so it was no surprise to anyone present that he followed the other man into the kitchen of the Burrow without saying a word.

And after a moment, they did not look after them any more, but turned back to what they were doing, of all the Weasleys and all the rest of the people present, amongst them Hagrid, squashed into a chair that was basically too small for him and that seemed to hold him only because someone had been thoughtful enough to cast a few charms, Poppy Pomfrey deep in conversation with Angelina Johnson, Luna Lovegood staring up the stairwell of the old house, Neville Longbottom cowering away as Severus Snape passed by, Filius Flitwick, diminutively sitting next to Pomona Sprout who looked out one of the windows and discused the garden gnomes with Bill and Charlie Weasley. And of course Harry Potter, observing Severus Snape with Ginny Weasley almost sitting on his lap, but wanting to push her off for a moment and following the two men in the kitchen – which he didn't. He needed to talk to Snape alone, needed to clear the air. But not in a house full of people.

And so Severus followed Arthur into the kitchen and because everyone was busy pretending not to look for a moment, that they all missed Hermione pushing Ron off impatiently and darted past all of them into the kitchen as well.

Only the two men, of course, noticed, when the door was pushed open and a whirlwind Hermione came in, stumbling over the half-broken tile just in front of the door frame.

"Professor Snape," she stuttered. "I haven't seen you since..." and then she stopped. She hadn't seen him since that afternoon she had walked out on him, when he had still been in that coma. When Poppy had sent her away just to get a bite of food and talk to Ron and Harry. And Severus actually looked at her for a moment and something in his brain fired something but he couldn't place it and so he thought that it was maybe just a memory of her, and her annoying voice during all those years he had to listen to her reciting facts from books in his class. But of course it wasn't. It was a subconscious knowledge – one he could not access. And Hermione knew that he didn't know and she felt stupid running into the kitchen and she felt stupid for wanting to tell him because, what would it achieve? He would only laugh at her and she did not want to be laughed at by that man.

That man standing there was a hero and someone she deeply admire and she was interested in what he had to say. But that man standing there only, at that moment, saw the Gryffindor girl and that could not remember what she wanted to say because she remembered all that had transpired and because she pitied him for loving a woman for such a long time and doing those things for her.

Which wasn't true at all. Hermione admired that love. It was true and it was lasting and to sacrifice himself for that love was food for her romantic soul.

So she tried to catch herself and only for a moment, gazed deeply into his dark eyes. "Since a long time ago," she said absently. "Are you fine?"

"Yes," he drawled, not understanding why she suddenly stared into his eyes that way. It couldn't be that she was tempting him to use Occlumency on her – he wouldn't do it. He didn't care enough. And suddenly, her face broke out in a broad smile and he couldn't understand it at all.

She smiled because she was glad that he was fine, that he was still the Professor Snape she knew and that he hadn't turned into a mushy, sappy softy because of his near-death experience. She would have missed his meanness and sarcasm.

_**xx**_


	14. Sooner rather than later

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

In the last three weeks, she had seen her husband maybe a dozen times. He was always gone by the time she got up, and when she went to her bed at night, he had not returned from brewing or whatever it was he was doing. And truth be told, she didn't mind much. She found it difficult to look him in the eyes since she had begun this – whatever it was – with Charlie. And she knew she had to tell him. Charlie was – considerate, loving, gentle, treated her like some precious gift when they were together. And she had the feeling, the inkling, that he wanted more, much more. He never said as much but when he held her after they'd been together, there was the a kind of feeling she had, a kind of feeling his arms, tightening around her and his heart beating underneath her ear, evoked. There had been that one moment when she thought she had heard him say the three words but she wasn't sure.

Three words that Severus had never once said to her and while she had never truly missed them, now that she thought that Charlie had said them, or that she had heard him whisper them, even though she wasn't really sure, she only now realised how painful it was to be married and go without it. And for such a long time.

No, she would have to talk to both men, and sooner rather than later. It was almost as if Severus suspected something anyhow. Or maybe not. In any case, he even avoided the library. Or did when she was in. And she would have to talk to Charlie. Those afternoons in his flat were nice and all but the more time she spent there, the more she wanted. She was getting greedy and and became addicted to that man and his affection. Or whatever it was he was giving her.

She would tell Severus. Would tell him that she didn't love him any more and that she did not want that not-love to change into a feeling of hatred or despising one another. She wanted to part ways with him. Wanted to be with Charlie. Every afternoon she spent in the arms of her lover made this more clear to her. Every minute, every second, she heard her conscience scream 'leave Severus.'

She would talk to him. And to Charlie. Though she had no idea with whom first. And how to do it. She would figure it out.

Sooner rather than later.

xx

There was an icy silence between him and Hermione. He had leashed out, had said something he had not meant at all, but had meant at the same time, and then not meant, and then meant and he was confused. A state, Severus admitted to himself, he hadn't been in often in his adult life. It had always been clear. Everything. There was Good and Evil. Light and Dark. Clear cut borders between those.

Now with what he was feeling for that woman it was not clear. He avoided her and when they met on chance, he merely glared and she glared back. Oh but she still did all that researching and as her due date was approaching, he knew that sooner or later, she would go out and find those wizards.

Not.

Not if he had a say in this matter.

Severus knew people. A lot of people. Good and Evil people. Light and Dark. And he felt absolutely no qualms about using people. He just used the contacts he already had and did some discreet inquiries and hell, yes, he had paid a visit to Potter. Wanted to demand why he didn't take his revenge.

But Potter was almost worse than Hermione. He merely did desk duty and that, according to his wife, only a few hours every week.

In short, Ronald Weasley's death had taken a huge toll on Potter. And his wife though as it was so often the case, women were able to pull themselves together for longer periods of time. Of course when they were hit by the realisation of what had happened, it took them normally longer to accept it, to get to terms with it, to cope. But Potter, no Potter would be no help the state he was in.

He had dug a little and so far had come up with a few names. None that would imply a group of five or six wizards but if those had anything to do with drugs, it might as well be two groups of three, or a group of two and four. A bit more digging, a few vials of Veritaserum and he would have them. Severus Snape had absolutely no doubts he would find them.

Sooner rather than later.

xx

Hermione hated that silence between herself and Severus. He had probably not meant what he had said – it had sounded more like a childish tantrum, or a hurt individual than a serious comment. And still, he avoided her and judging by Aleia's comments in the library, he was avoiding her as well.

Maybe something had happened that had triggered this sudden need to be a longer again. Maybe it wasn't only her. Maybe it was everyone.

But she missed talking to him. She missed seeing him and she missed knowing that she could turn to him. Well, no, she would still turn to him for help if she needed it. She didn't care whether he wanted to avoid her (and probably everyone else) like the plague. She truly did not care. She was a widow, she thought childishly, she was entitled to help. If she needed it.

Honestly, she had grown used to him in a way. Though since she had more or less moved to the Burrow, he had more often than not, avoided her. But he was Severus Snape and avoidance of people was one of his specialities. Still, he had always been there when she had needed him.

Always.

And she had come to a dead end in her researching. In matters like this, only so much could be found in files. People had to be tailed, people had to be found, people had to be questioned. And she could not see, tail, question people with only two more weeks to go to her due date. Walking like a normal person was impossible and possibly running after someone – yes. She might just as well try to climb the Kilimanjaro in her state.

Besides, she felt as if the baby wasn't truly patient to stay put. She hadn't felt well for that past couple of days, but maybe that had been the prolonged sitting. Well. No. She was getting closer and closer and the baby would not wait out the entire 40 weeks.

In fact, she suspected that her baby would be born much sooner than she had expected.

Or – judging by that pain, very soon. She would have to get to the Hospital Wing, have Madam Pomfrey have a look at it.

Sooner rather than later.

xx

Aleia flooed home from Charlie's. She had not said anything. She had merely looked into his eyes and had kissed him very deeply and very thoroughly. And looked him with an expression that she hoped showed him her longing, in the eyes. He was – she had no idea how to describe him.

It wasn't only about the sex, that much was for sure. They talked before, they talked a lot after. He made her laugh – and not only with witty, sarcastic comments. He felt so close. And Severus, well, she had always known that he had built walls around himself but when she had begun going out with him, she still had had the hope that those would crumble over time.

They never had.

With a sigh, she let herself be spun away by the green flames and in those few seconds the floo-travelling cost, she thought with dread of the cold castle and the icy interior in her rooms.

She would seek him out first. Severus. Him first. Telling him, well, maybe not that she had fallen in love, but she would tell him that she could not stand this any longer. That she was a woman who needed affection, who needed love. Who could not stand never to be in the same room, never to be in the same bed with her husband – and that it was too late to change it.

She would move out. As simple as that. Ask the Headmistress if there were other rooms available. And if that was impossible, or if she was met with hostility for leaving her husband -she would find another job. Move away from Hogwarts. With or without Charlie.

No, honest, the past few afternoons with him had shown her so clearly that her marriage with Severus was a farce. And she was not willing to live a farther much longer. Not if she had the opportunity to live a life with someone who adored her and someone she adored. Be that Charlie or someone else.

Aleia Snape, née Stapelton admitted defeat. She had failed in her marriage with Severus. And she was ready to admit unconditional surrender (well, the unconditional was a point she would probably argue without). But she would tell him. Just tell him.

xx

He stalked through the halls of Hogwarts. It was what he did, after all. He liked doing it. He wasn't overly keen on some of the biting remarks of the portraits but he had learned to not listen to them. He would go down to his lab, he would brew something, anything. Didn't want to be in his rooms. Not if there was the possibility to see his wife. He could not stand to be in one room with her any more and he couldn't even understand what had happened to make him feel that way.

Oh well, Hermione had happened and his ridiculous urge to protect her. It almost – almost – felt like betraying his wife. Not that he truly minded it, but it was betraying.

Still, he thought, as he was on his way down to the dungeons, he'd rather live alone. Spent the evening in front of the fire, a glass of wine or a bit of Firewhiskey or Silvergin with him, reading a book. And not only reading in bed. Seriously, some of the books he wanted to read or actually read were much too heavy to read in bed. And too old and too precious. Those were red wine and fire and squashy armchair books. Not bed books.

And he had no idea how to achieve this. Granted, Aleia might be in her rooms as well but this marriage was – well – the North Pole was a warm and sunny place compared to their rooms.

Yes, yes, it was his fault. And he had vowed not to break his vow. But it was wearing him down. Not being able to do what he wanted to do in _his_ quarters. His quarters. The quarters she had moved into. Not hers, not theirs. His. He would have to find a way for her to want to leave.

Maybe dangle a Weasley long enough in front of her nose. Or maybe just spending time in his living room but ignoring her. He would have to think of something. And he would. While brewing. Not quite yet.

And especially not at the moment that he heard panting behind him.

xx

She had given birth to two children. She knew how it went. And this was not how it had gone the past two times. There had been pain, yes, but not this pain. Not like this. This wasn't normal. This wasn't good.

Or maybe she had merely forgotten how bad it had hurt the first two times. Hugo's birth had been a rather long time ago after all. He would attend Hogwarts the next year. It had been almost ten years. Maybe she had just forgotten. But she needed to get to the Hospital Wing.

Desperately.

And she had no one there. Hugo was at school, Rosie in class. And she had not thought of flooing the mediwitch. She had just begun to stumble, waddle, somehow get to the Infirmary. Alone. It was pain and more pain. Hadn't the pains stopped? Hadn't there been breaks in between?

And then, rounding a corner, there had been billowing robes. She panted, stumbled two more steps.

"Severus," she gasped and there was suddenly, more black in her vision than there should have been and she could see nothing but blackness and felt no pain any more.

xx

"Severus," she gasped and when he turned completely to the stumbling, almost falling woman, Hermione, both hands on the wall, trying to get a grip to keep herself a little upright, he saw her, so pale, and after whispering his name once more, she suddenly fell hard on the flagged stones.

_**xx**_


	15. LIFS

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

Carefully, but as quickly as he could, he picked Hermione up. He felt panic rising in his chest, growing, ever since she had fallen so gracelessly on the floor, and naturally, at first, he didn't even think of using magic to levitate her, to bring her to the Infirmary. No, he had not thought twice before picking her up, her head lolling slightly before he somehow nudged it to rest half against his arm, half against his chest, her knees bent over his arm, her feet dangling in the air.

Somewhere deep inside, he knew that there were students gaping at him carrying her like this, somewhere inside, he knew that he would remember every single face that stared at him carrying the unconscious woman now, rushing her to help, and he knew that he would make them pay for it with detention after detention after detention. But for now, he even ignored the shouts of the portraits, urging him on. Ignored everything but the way he was rushing along. Not far, he knew, and Hermione, despite her very heavy looking stomach, was anything but.

For a brief moment, a very brief moment only, he allowed himself, despite his rush and his being quite out of breath, to inhale deeply, inhale her scent, smelling Hermione, as sweet and citrussy and lovely as she always smelled. But he didn't allow him longer than half a second and with his foot only, he pushed the door open to the Infirmary.

It didn't matter to him that there were three Hufflepuffs sitting each on a bed, sniffling, holding their hands and arms and feet (one each) and it didn't matter to him what they had (though, under normal circumstances, he would have sneered at them, or at least made a witty, sarcastic remark about how badgers should never attempt to fly) and that they were staring.

Staring, especially when he didn't see the mediwitch immediately – and shouted. Severus Snape normally never shouted like this. But this was an emergency and Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen. She should man the bloody Infirmary. Not have tea somewhere in the backroom.

"Poppy!" he shouted, looking around wildly. She was still breathing, yes, but this couldn't be good. It just couldn't be good for her to collapse this way. "Poppy, for Merlin's sake!" he shouted again.

"Severus," she tutted, "I have never heard you sho...what happened?" she asked, suddenly, when she saw Hermione lying motionlessly on the bed Severus had put her on. She rushed, almost ran to her side, pulling out her wand as she came close. "Severus, curtains," she commanded and he needed a moment, a moment only, to react before he shielded her from the curious glances of the three Hufflepuffs.

"I, erm," he stuttered uncharacteristically – everything he felt at this moment was out of character for him – "I'll just go."

Poppy Pomfrey shook her head. "No. You stay here. I might need you and she might need you. Now be good and go to my office. There is a cabinet, open it with Shiitake. That's the password. There is a vial of green potion on the top, at the right. Unlabelled. It's the only unlabelled vial in there. Go. Quick," she said very quickly.

He didn't need a moment this time. He almost sprinted off, ignoring the surprised mutterings of the Hufflepuffs (Indira Yellobow, Benita Pickleforth and Martin Randolph – oh he would get back at them – but not yet, not yet) and tore into Pomfrey's office, seeing the cabinet immediately and with a hissed Shiitake, it sprung open. He looked t over quickly, found the mentioned vial and with never known speed, he ran back. Oh yes, it was bad for his reputation and he would have to rectify it but seriously, everyone would act this way, wouldn't they? This was a woman who had collapsed and it had nothing to do with the fact that he might have feelings for her.

"Here," he said and shoved the vial into Pomfrey's hand.

"Stand by her head and cast a silencing charm," she truly took command of the situation and Severus felt himself obeying without hesitating. He waved his wand and stood by her head, almost tempted to touch her, stroke her hair or run his fingers over her temple and forehead and cheeks but he put his hands in his pockets, clenched them to fists, his fingernails digging painfully into his palms.

He could not lose her. Not like this.

And he had avoided her. Knew she was probably still trying to find her late huband's killer and he had not paid attention. He had avoided her and when she had found him, she had collapsed immediately. He probably could have seen this sooner, he could have helped her, get her to the Infirmary quicker.

"Severus!" Poppy snapped. "Will you do as I say?"

"What?" he snapped back. He had not heard her.

"Tip her head back slightly."

He did – slowly, afraid in a way to touch her.

"Severus, this potion and she will be fine. It happens. Especially when the witch is stressed before giving birth."

"I didn't make this potion," he hissed.

"No, you didn't. I did. You are ignorant when it comes to obstetric potions. Now tip her head back and count to ten. And stop being so fidgety."

"I am not fidgety," he argued, his fingers strained not to caress her as he tipped her head back and Pomfrey emptied the vial of potion into her mouth. "What is it?" he asked to stop himself from really counting and to distract himself from feeling her warm skin under his fingers.

Poppy arched an eyebrow. "It is called LIFS," she explained, "Labour Induced Fainting Syndrome."

Suddenly, there was a gasp, and when he looked down, Hermione's eyes were wide open. "I had it with Rose," she groaned. "Didn't think I'd have it with this one."

"So you know what happens?" Poppy asked and Severus could only stare when Hermione nodded, then glanced up at him and smiled. It took all his willpower not to keep on cupping her head and her face. She was pale and her forehead was sweaty.

It was too much for Severus. Way too much. He had to get out. Just had to go. Couldn't see her this way.

"I will go then," he muttered and his hand was seized by something warm and slightly wet. He looked down immediately and saw it was her hand. Her hand grasping his and when he looked into her face, two pleading eyes met his.

"Stay," Hermione spoke between clenched teeth. "Please stay."

xx

Aleia stepped into her quarters with conviction. She had the speech already in her head. The point was not to let him begin to speak. To just talk and then pack her bags and go. She would just – probably go to Charlie or, if she didn't dare to, she would go talk to the Headmistress. It hadn't gone unnoticed after all, that their marriage was on the rocks – and people probably suspected this happening. It wasn't surprising and the castle was large – she could probably just bunk in with Hermione, watch her, take care of her in the last stages of her pregnancy.

"Severus?" she called and hated how her voice trembled. "Severus?"

No answer. She shed her outer robes and draped it on the couch. "Severus!" she called, impatiently. This was getting ridiculous and she decided to just go the entire way, and strode towards the door to his bedroom. A quick knock, not more, and she entered.

It was empty.

And looked the way it had always looked. Tidy, full of more books (as if they didn't have enough in the living room), the bed cleanly made, the closet closed. It was all as it had always been. Always very tidy.

"Excellent," she muttered sarcastically to herself and went out again, closed the door carefully and flopped down on the couch.

She had expected to find him there – and had expected to being able to tell him what she needed to say and now he wasn't even there.

No, it didn't matter.

She got up heavily, a strange feeling in her stomach, something close to nausea, actually, induced from the excitement, probably, and went into her room. Not quite so tidy, cluttered, in fact, and summoned a bag, the nausea rising in herself.

She was afraid. And she wasn't sure she could do it.

No, running away, without telling him wouldn't do. She threw herself on her bed, ignored the bag and tried to calm her stomach.

xx

If this made one thing quite clear, it was that Severus never wanted to attend another birth. Never wanted to see and hear this again. It had been bad enough and he had stayed, on Pomfrey's orders and Hermione's wish, by her head, had stood there, leant over her when she gasped for air and let her hold his hand.

He couldn't honestly say that he was comfortable but it seemed, somehow, oddly, to calm her. To make it simpler for her though he did not understand why.

And it didn't even take that long but Severus thought that it would have just lasted for three days straight – that was what it felt like. But she smiled in between those times, pains, when she was close to screaming, or screaming or biting her lip, or grunting, smiled at him and he could not explain, didn't want to explain what this felt like. Even in her sweaty state, the hair plastered to her head and the ends even curlier than usual, she was beautiful. And in so much pain. It hurt him to see her like this – and he never wanted to see it again. If it took the edge off while she broke all the bones in his hand – crushing it – it was fine.

There had been a final scream – and then another, quite a different scream from the other side – the side he did not want to look at and Hermione grunted once more, but it was a different kind of grunt and he knew that her child had been born, suddenly. And just as suddenly, her face broke out in the most exhausted, happiest smile he had ever seen on anyone's face.

"You have a boy, Hermione," Pomfrey smiled at her from the other end of her, and rushed away, bustling with something he could not see in her arms.

"Thank you," she whispered and squeezed his hand again, crushing yet another bone. "Thank you, Severus."

He rolled his eyes – it was the only reaction he could think of and tried to get his hand from this death-grip but she wouldn't let go. She only smiled at him for a moment longer.

"Is he okay?" she asked, then, suddenly, and tried to sit up, her hand finally letting go of his.

The mediwitch chuckled, and a second later, a bundle of white cloth full of human was placed into her arms. "Yes, he is very healthy," she answered and that seemed to trigger another cry of the child.

It was tiny. And pink. Or reddish-pink. Not very beautiful. But the baby's hair was not red. And the eyes sort of scrunched up.

"Severus Ronald," Hermione whispered and touched the baby's face with her fingertips.

That shook him awake, out of his trance at seeing this little, tiny, wee human there, her child. In her arms, screaming. Crying. Not another one of those brats named after him. And he was right there. He could interfere.

"No," he said adamantly. "I have Potter's brat named after me. Not another one."

"But..." she looked up with pleading eyes but not even this could move him. And that meant a lot. She couldn't do this.

"No," he repeated.

Poppy Pomfrey suddenly pushed herself between them and picked up the baby. "I have to check you," she explained. "You don't mind, do you?"

Hermione chuckled, painfully, exhaustedly, probably, and he found himself – the newborn in his arms. Just as sudden as everything else had happened. A baby. Him holding a baby that had just been born.

And something snapped. Something inside the so-called evil git of the dungeons snapped and a tiny smile, tinier than the baby in his arms, appeared on his face. He had calmed a little, it seemed and slowly, blinked. Severus wasn't stupid. He knew that baby's did not see that clearly when they had just been born. He knew the newborn had only a blurred vision but his sparkling blue eyes suddenly looked into his and something snapped. He couldn't name it. There probably wasn't even a word, or a term for it.

But he felt himself soften inside, and, holding the baby with one arm, close against his chest, his finger, slowly, found its was to the baby's face and much as Hermione had done earlier, he touched his face, his wee nose, the cheeks, the brownish hair.

"I always rather like Leonard," he thought – and only after a moment realised, he whispered, not thought it.

Hermione craned her neck, looked at him, smiled and nodded slowly. "Then say hello to Leonard."

_**xx**_


	16. Baby

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

She craned her neck around and it was a heart-warming sight that greeted her. The man she had feared most of her days at school, and the man that she had tried to get to know after the war had ended, the man that she had always sort of admired what he had done, that man had just named her child, her newborn son, her baby, and held him, the little Leonard, to his chest, and touched the baby's face. Hermione had never seen his face quite so free of sneers, quirks, lines, anything. It was almost serene.

She couldn't quite see her son but she could see a tiny hand grasping Severus's finger. It seemed somewhat familiar – but all she could really think about at the moment was him, looking shocked for a moment and then his features softening again and smiling a little. A little more than a little, actually.

And at the same time, she noticed one thing. He handled little Leonard with such care, with such caution. And immediately, like a bolt of lightning hitting her, images of Ron. Ron had experience with children – even such little ones. And he had held all their children, all his nieces and nephews and all other children he had ever come to hold with ease with a comprehension that Severus lacked. She was a thousand times grateful that he had been with her, that he was holding that baby, and that he was obviously bonding with the baby. She wanted Severus as a godfather for Leonard, she realised that now, but hell she missed Ronald. Wanted him there with her. Wanted him to see their child, their baby.

She shut her eyes very tightly, tried and pressed the threatening tears back, tried to choke them down and tried not to breathe, tried not to cry, to break down down. But there was a burning in her chest, in her lungs, everywhere and she needed air and when she only slightly opened her clamped down mouth, a sob escaped her lips.

She wanted Ron.

Here, with her. She loved seeing Severus holding the baby, but he had not wanted to be there, she had made him and he was not the father. He would be the godfather but Ronald should have been there.

"Hermione," Poppy had covered her up and had helped her sit somewhat half upright before she enfolded her in her arms and that was when she lost it completely. Yes, she had just given birth to a wonderful, healthy boy and she had two wonderful people by her side. But not the one that should be there.

"It's okay, love," Poppy stroked her back and whispered in her ear. "It's fine to be sad, you have every right to. Now now, you have a good cry."

Hermione cried and sobbed and she couldn't quite stop herself – even couldn't when she heard little Leonard crying and was probably hungry. She couldn't even quite stop herself when Poppy let go off her and put Leonard into her arms. But by that time, she had at least stopped sobbing and was only sniffling and really trying to stop. It was almost natural to push aside the hospital gown she had been put into but at the last minute, she looked around – and only saw thin air.

"Where is Severus?" she asked, wanting him there. Wanting to tell him that she wanted him to be Leonard's godfather. Wanted to thank him again. And wanted to take another good look at him, holding her son.

She sighed, blinked the tears away, not noticing that she had cried in Poppy's arms for close than half an hour and with another sigh, she let Leonard eat, watching him.

He looked almost as Hugo had looked as a newborn – but despite the ginger hair, there was almost blonde hair on top of his head. His ears were tiny and his nose so cute. Eyes closed and rather dark eyelashes against his chubby cheeks. No, despite the fact that he was a little early, he was rather chubby and beautiful.

In that moment, Hermione understood one thing. This was the last gift Ron had given her. And even though she could not name him Ronald, it would always be his boy.

Well, she could have named him Ronald, of course, but she remembered clearly that discussion they had when she had first been pregnant with Rose. He had been so adamant on never allowing a child of his to be named after him – and his argument was indeed quite convincing. He had explained, in all detail, with a lot of for instances, that he only knew one person that was named after his father. And that person had been Tom Riddle. And as such, no. As the middle name, maybe. But the rest, no. Using older names from the family, yes. Not his name. Not as a first name. That had been the rule.

And she respected it. Leonard Ronald sounded a bit wobbly, but yeah. It would be the beautiful little one's name. She smiled, still feeling teary and caressed her son's cheek.

"Oh, could you somehow get Rose and Hugo?" she asked, wanting her older children there just as well. To be for them to be together as a family – and to introduce their new brother.

She smiled as the mediwitch left and noticed that she had not yet talked to her baby yet. "Hey Leonard. Remember my voice? I'm Mummy. I'll take care of you and I love you. You've already met your goddaddy Severus. And we'll find you a good godmummy was well, won't we? Yes, we will. You're beautiful, baby. And your daddy is looking down on us from where he's now and waving and is being very proud of us. He is," she trailed off, new tears running down her cheeks.

xx

The baby had been – odd – to hold. And the baby had grabbed his finger. And the baby had blinked at him. And the baby had just observed him and had held on to his finger. It was definitely odd. And not a feeling he had ever expected to feel. A sudden urge to protect this tiny tiny human being from anything that would come towards him. To protect him from anyone and anything. To just make sure nobody harmed that baby. And no, he had never had felt that before. Never. Not ever. But leave it to Pomfrey to place a newborn in his arms, something he had never done before either. Not heavy at all but it had weighed him down to keep that baby safe.

He was very confused when he disappeared from the Infirmary, the little one finally taken from his arms, because Hermione – oh Hermione – had cried so much and had only stopped after what seemed like an eternity. He knew he was walking, striding to his rooms and he knew that again, students were looking at him but this had been too much, almost. He had never held anything so precious and so little and – he had no idea how to explain it.

He had never wanted to be a father. And he still did not want to be, to be honest, but he would protect this baby, without actually having to take on the responsibility. He could not take the responsibility but he had experience in protecting people.

He unwarded the doors to his rooms, and tried to shake the weird feeling of protectiveness from his head, by the looks of t, Aleia was home, her robes only discarded over the couch, not put away, not folded, nothing. And that was enough, for the time being, to forget about the baby – Leonard.

He merely wanted to go into his room, read, or forget, or think, or anything. His head was not sorted at all. He needed to understand what he had seen, what he had experienced. But there were strange noises from the bathroom and he couldn't help but raise his eyebrows.

Those were very distinct noises – vomiting. Aleia vomiting in the bathroom and Severus's eyebrows arched higher. Of course it could be nothing and only him now remembering what he had just seen and been to – but didn't women do that a lot when they were pregnant?

What a ridiculous thought. Aleia took the potion he made her. Granted, the risk of falling pregnant taking that potion was 30% - had something to do with the fact that she was allergic to certain ingredients of the real thing – but that was why he had always used a spell on himself. And they hadn't had engaged in that sort of thing for a while now. And he did not doubt that he would have noticed before – but with the spell and the potion, their protection was 100%. He had never wanted risking to be a father.

She had probably merely only eaten something that caused her stomach to rebel and he did not care. The noise stopped as well then – and he heard water running. He shrugged – no, he didn't care, she could do whatever she wanted and he would merely go to his room and sort his thoughts.

"Severus," she said a little weakly from the bathroom before he could step out of sight and when he turned around and looked at her, his eyebrows shot up again. She was pale, yes, but didn't have the green tinge she usually had when she had a stomach bug. No, if she was pregnant, it certainly wasn't his and Aleia was not the type for an affair.

Probably. She would suffer – she and whoever it was that she had an affair – for the rest of her life if she had.

"Aleia," he said coldly, and nodded only slightly.

"I, erm, need to talk to you," she said, her voice shaking and something akin to dread and apprehension pushed all images of blinking Leonard, smiling Hermione from his head. Yes, he had a plan. He would do exactly that. And then they could talk.

xx

The entire excitement had made her sick to the stomach. It had happened a lot when she had been a girl and a teenager. And obviously now it was happening again. She knew from experience that the only thing to get this under control was to get over with what she feared.

And in this case – it was leaving. Talking to him and leaving.

"Yes. In just a second," Severus said and with a raised hand, he strode into his room – but left the door open. He rummaged in one of his bookshelves, pulled two books out and the door to his private lab opened. She shivered, her hands were clammy and she just wanted to get this over with. And leave. She couldn't lie to him any more. She just couldn't. And he was going and even getting a potion. Probably for her stomach. It was only a moment that he was gone and returned, his face the neutral expression she had come to despise in the last month, the fact that did not allow her to read any kind of emotion on his face, not anything and he merely shoved a vial into her hands.

"Drink," he said coldly. "It will soothe your stomach."

She smiled weakly and drowned the liquid. It didn't quite taste like the usual stomach-calming solution he had usually made for her but it helped almost immediately. It helped almost immediately, yes, but there was a strange thing happening too.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, her fingertips were glowing. Glowing a bright, bright white. With those fingers, she thought, she could read in the dark.

"Severus?" she asked, holding up her hand, not understanding.

"Get out," he replied, the coldness in his voice reaching new heights. Icy, forbidding.

"What? I don't understand. What is this?" she asked, waving her hands in the air again and before she knew what was happening, he had grasped both her hands, painfully and held them in front of her eyes. The light blinded her horrible and she had to close her eyes.

He shook her, obviously in rage, obviously completely angry. "Severus, you scare me," she said and blinked when she felt her hands moved away slightly from her eyes.

"Congratulations, wife," he spat the title, "you are pregnant. Now get out of my sight."

_**xx**_


	17. Over

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Aleia stared at her husband of ten years, then her glowing fingers, then back to her husband. She shook her head, looking at the floor now. "I can't be pregnant," she whispered. "I took the potion. It can't be."

She hugged herself around the middle, seeing her life, her entire life explode in front of her eyes – and even though she had wanted to go, even though she had gotten ready to tell him and to leave, this was not as it should have gone. Not at all. Her marriage exploding in her face, her husband towering there, and he was probably close to exploding as well.

"Get. Out." he said again.

"Severus, I want to explain," she whispered and looked up again, in his face. He was white with rage, and his eyes, for the first time in a long time, showed passion – even if it was, in this case, bad passion and even though she knew that he had never been violent towards her, now she felt as if he was battling himself about whether to strike her or not. She had to speak. She had to tell him.

"I know you've never loved me," she said very quickly, ignoring the growing gleam of anger in his eyes. "And lately, we've grown apart and I fell in love with Charlie. I know it was a mistake doing it and not telling you. I wanted to, I really did. I'm not fair, I know. But I didn't know I was pregnant. If it's yours, I'll stay."

She hadn't thought of this. It could be Severus's child. And not Charlie's. Maybe she was that far along – though, no.

"It is not mine, Madam Stapelton. I could explain how exactly I know and why this potion you ingested shows me, but I will not. Now get out. I don't want to see you here again," he spat with vitriol and spun around, disappearing into his room, and she could see the wards shimmering slightly before they fell into place. She sank onto the couch and put her face in her hands.

xx

Actually, that confined space wasn't good for him. He should have stormed out of his quarters, that would have been better but then he would have surrendered his rooms to her and he wouldn't leave until she had gone. Wouldn't go to his lab. Would stay there and at least listen when she was going and immediately reset the wards.

Pregnant.

His wife.

Not his child.

The brightness of the light on her fingers signified that she could only be pregnant less than 4 weeks. It was an ingenious potion, even if he hadn't developed it himself. Bright white light in the first 4 weeks, bright yellow light up until 12 weeks, bright red light after 12 weeks. And no, he had not slept with Aleia in the past four weeks. And he had always, always cast the spell. And she had admitted to cheating.

With Charlie Weasley. Of course a Weasley. He had been made an arse off with a Weasley. Of all people. He would smack that little bloody ginger boy. Or hex him until all his manly parts fell off and he would never ever be able to produce another child. No, physically hitting him would be better.

How dare she? How dare she with him? She was his wife. She had promised, she had given him her vow. And she had broken it.

Oh, the irony. He had thought and thought and thought and had felt guilty for even thinking about Hermione. Had felt that he was cheating on her for adoring another woman than his wife, even if it was just from afar. And now he was the one.

He kicked his bookcase, hard, make it splinter a little – and that felt extraordinarily good. He was tempted to whip his wand out and destroy more but no, it wouldn't have the same effect. Instead, he shed his robes, and with hands and feet, he began to kick, hit, destroy his bookcases, his bed, his dresser. He let out all the anger he felt at his wife for actually thinking he was an absolute fool. For making him the fool. The feet of his bed gave in and the entire thing fell hard on the ground, making a racket but making him feel better.

"Bitch," he muttered and gave his dresser a last kick, a drawer springing open and tumbling to the floor, socks all over the ground.

He fumed – and decided not to fix his furniture for the time being.

xx

Hermione heard most of this terrible break up from her hospital bed. Poppy would not let her go for a week, even though she was fine and Leonard was fine. But at the same time, she always had company and Poppy spent time with her a lot, when she didn't fix students and she had, after all, put her into a corner of the Infirmary, and Leonard was by her side all the time. Severus had come in twice. But he didn't really talk. He only sat and looked at her and enquired how the baby was, and he hadn't even really reacted to her making him little Leonard's godfather. It was all free of emotions.

But she heard from Rose that he took points like never before, handed out detentions like an obsessed person and no House was exempt from it. From what she heard of Rosie, he had at least 20 students in detention every single night. And that was including Saturday and Sunday.

Poppy had passed on the staffroom gossip and that was ugly. Staffroom gossip said Aleia was pregnant and that not Severus but Charlie Weasley was the father of the child. The only thing she did know for sure, however, was that Aleia was not at the castle any more and Charlie had not yet replied to the owl she had written him – because, well, grain of salt etc.

And asking Severus – no no. That was completely out of the question. She would probably, in the mood he was in (also in the staffroom, Poppy explained – there, he was, spat at everyone, was generally a bigger bastard than he usually was) be hexed into next year. And she would wait if Charlie knew something, and if he didn't, she would go on to ask and listen to a few other people, including Aleia before she asked Severus. But the poor man walked around taking whatever had happened out on students and colleagues and was probably not even trying to talk to someone about it.

Seriously, even if there was only one part of it true, him being left by his wife, it was a blow to this proud man. And she would talk to him. As soon as she knew the truth. But only then. She wasn't the impulsive little Gryffindor any more. And she wanted Leonard to have a godfather that still spoke to her.

Still, all of this had sort of come as a surprise. She had never seen them fighting, or being apart or had suspected their marriage not going well. They had not always been together, but that was probably normal for a normal couple. Ron and her hadn't gone everywhere together.

But Charlie? And Aleia? And cheating on Severus? She didn't think anyone would have the guts. Oh well, she expected an owl from him every minute now. She had, after all, written the day before yesterday. And he usually replied quickly.

Leonard next to her was suddenly beginning to cry as she mused about Severus and his wife and Charlie and she smiled, picking him up and kissing him.

"Hermione?" Poppy pushed the curtains aside just as Leonard latched on to her breast and suckled greedily.

"Yes?" she asked, still smiling at her boy who had inherited his father's appetite.

"I have a letter for you. And if you like, you can go. You can stay if you'd rather have company, but both of you are fine and I don't have to monitor you any more," she smiled and pulled a chair up after she had put the letter down on the bed.

"Anything new?" she asked, watching her baby feed.

"About...you know?"

Hermione nodded, grinning.

"No," Poppy grinned back, "But dear Severus stormed into the staffroom this morning to the meeting, glared at everyone and when Minerva handed out the list for the teachers accompanying the students to Hogsmeade at the weekend, he was on it. I don't know who had the idea of doing it, but he merely ripped the list in two and stormed out. He didn't even say a word. It's not normal. He would have usually ranted and shouted, maybe, but not gone silently. Oh, but that seems to be the new him. He hasn't spoken to anyone. Not during meals..."

"Rose said he only wrote the recipe of the potion on the board and only spoke when he docked points or handed out detention."

"It's like we're back at the dark days. He used to be like this then," Poppy said pensively, then eyed the letter suspiciously but Hermione just smiled. If it was from Charlie – and she couldn't see from where she was sitting – she would under no circumstances tell Poppy whatever was in that letter. Even if it said absolutely nothing about Severus and Aleia.

"Yes, I know," she nodded and had no idea how to get rid of the mediwitch to read that letter in private. But well, she was smart, even if she was not an impulsive Gryffindor any more, she could be sneaky and make the mediwitch get out. Slowly, one arm of her supporting Leonard, her other hand inched closer to her wand that she had next to her underneath the covers of the hospital bed.

A quick wave later, and there was a cry in the front of the Infirmary. Poor Ravenclaw that had been brought in with some weird boils from a failed hex had probably just been woken up by her. Or, well, yes, she had woken the poor boy up. But Poppy would make him sleep again – and that would give her enough time to read the letter and put it somewhere.

"Oh dear. Poor lad," the older woman muttered and rushed out in between the curtains and Hermione smiled at her son.

"We did that well, eh?" she whispered to her son, still suckling and she quickly grabbed the letter and unfolded it.

"Let's see what Uncle Charlie writes," she whispered again and began to read, her eyes wide open.

xx

"Did you tell her?" Aleia asked, coming up to stand behind Charlie and hugging him from behind.

"Yeah. I don't even want to imagine what they're saying about you at Hogwarts," he answered and turned to hug her fully.

"I don't care," she smiled. "But I suppose it is better than Hermione knows. Especially with the baby there and everything."

"That's what I thought," he grinned and went on to his knees to kiss her stomach over her sweater before he looked up, still grinning, and she laughed, happy that she realised for the umpteenth time that she had made the right decision, and she went to her knees as well, kissing her lover, being held by him and being caressed by him.

And she loved this man – and had told him. And the best thing was – he had told her that he loved her first.

xx

_Hermione,_

_yes, the rumours are amazingly correct. Aleia is living with me now and Snape threw her out after he found out that she's pregnant with my child. I love her, Hermione. Don't think badly of us. We're very much in love and I couldn't be happier that she's with me. _

_Love,_

_Charlie_

She read it four times. And a fifth time to see if she had really read everything correctly. And she had. Oh dear, no wonder he was in a state like this. She would be in a state like this if something like that happened to her. Not that it would now, because Ron, well, he was not here any more, but in general, she would dock points, she would hand out detentions (if she was a teacher) and lash out at everyone.

But now that she knew what was going on, she could, carefully, try to talk to him. And she would take Leonard of course, because, well, she had seen the way Severus had looked at her boy, all protective and with those soft features that immediately hardened again when he noticed that she saw him. It was cute, really, in that entire mess. She would just put Leonard in his arms and then talk. Good plan.

She bundled her baby up good and tight, got dressed herself in something other than just pyjamas or sweats and while Poppy was still talking to the poor Ravenclaw, so only told her that she discharged herself, or that she was discharged and with Leonard safely in her arms, she quickly made her way down to the dungeons. It was after four, so she hoped that he was in his office or his rooms – and not overseeing any detentions yet. All the while that she walked down there, she told her little Leonard that he was about to see his goddaddy again and that his goddaddy would take good care of him as well and that she had serious talking to do so he better distracted his goddaddy and be his usual sweet self.

She stood basically right between his office and his private quarters and pondered. "Well, Leonard, where do we go?" she asked and frowned. Probably the office. "Yes, office."

Hermione nodded to herself and walked quickly to his office, breathed deeply before knocking ones and pushing the door open. It was open – and he sat there. Behind his desk, a scowl on his face, grading. Oh, she couldn't help herself – she chuckled. This was how she had expected it.

"Hi," she said softly as he looked up. "Your godson wanted to see you."

"I don't have time," he grumbled.

"Oh well," she shrugged and in a second, she was around the desk and – as she had planned, the little one was in his arms.

"Hermione," he drawled dangerously and stopped the threat he was probably about to make as soon as he looked down at her baby. There was seriously something between them – and she couldn't put her finger on it. Maybe he was just taken with her son. And well, he had no ginger hair yet. Maybe he would hate him if he had.

And there was that gentle, soft face again, and Leonard's little hand holding on to Severus's finger. It was a very sweet thing to see and Hermione knew that she could bring this up now. Even if it was too Gryffindorish.

"Charlie wrote me a letter today."

_**xx**_


	18. Vulnerable

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

He couldn't believe the audacity of this woman. Putting the innocent child in his arm, and that poor baby was looking up at him with blue eyes (but all babies had blue eyes, right?) and blinking and then telling him that Charlie Weasley the ******, the *******, the ******* had written her? Sly little – woman. And somewhere, in the depth of his mind, in the almost lost, deeply buried parts that treasured, admired that kind of cunning (oh well, not that deeply buried), he had to give her credit for this little plot. She knew that he would not harm that child. She knew he would not destroy his office – or anything else – while she had made him hold the baby.

His godson.

It hit him. This was his godson he was holding. His godson blinking at him. And since his godson had no father any more, it meant that – oh no. Oh no, he could not possibly be a father figure for him. He could not. He was not cut out to be a father, or anything even remotely like it. He just couldn't. It was not in his nature. Sly, cunning woman. And what, apart from the obvious, was she trying to achieve? Especially by making him godfather of that child. Leonard.

Leonard was his godson.

Well, he had to think about this. But first, he would have to answer. And no, he would not make it easy for her.

"Interesting," he drawled, not looking at her. Somehow, this baby seemed to hold his attention. He couldn't explain it, he couldn't grasp it. And somewhere, in even greater depths of his mind, even more deeply buried, he knew that he did not want to understand, grasp, explain it.

"I'm sorry, Severus," she said gently and smiled. "It must be hard. Do you want to, erm, maybe, talk about this?"

"Do I strike you as the talking kind, Missus Weasley?" he asked, coldly and before he knew it, that damn baby had taken hold of his finger again. Why was this always happening? Always his finger. In that tiny, tiny fist of his godson.

She, on the other hand, chuckled. "No, Professor Snape," she grinned, "you don't strike me as the talking kind. In fact, I heard several rumours up in the Infirmary. About you not talking at all – and even if you're saying something it's only to take points, hand out detentions or bark commands."

He looked up at her, his finger still being held hostage by Leonard, and looked directly into her eyes. They were smiling. Smiling. And she was smiling at him. Why was she smiling? It didn't make sense. He wanted to put the child back into her arms and throw her out – but something held him back. Something inexplicable, something in her eyes and something, a moment later, in Leonard's eyes. This was the woman he had dreamed about. The woman he wanted.

He knew he had no chance, absolutely none to be precise, but he still trusted her. To a certain extent. And talking to her, well, telling at least the basics could not hurt. Well, yes, it would hurt. Would put an even larger dent into his shattered pride (was that possible at all?) but this was eating him. Him not being good enough for his wife. Being cheated on. With a Weasley. A blood, damned, stupid Weasley.

"She cheated on me. And that's all there is about that," he said quietly and with his thumb, he slowly stroked over Leonard's fist (the fist that held his finger).

"I thought you were happy," Hermione stated, softly, gently, looking at him.

"Happy?" he almost snorted, his voice louder. "Who? Us?"

"Yes, you and Aleia."

He arched his eyebrows, and scowled. "No."

"No?"

"No," he said louder than he wanted to and shook his head. looking at Leonard again, but the baby seemed a little uncomfortable now, holding his finger tightly and his eyes not open and wide any more but scrunched up and there was, suddenly, a piercing scream from him. "Hermione," he said and wanted to get up and give her the child but she shook her head, smiling.

"You calm him. He's not hungry, I just fed him," she replied simply.

Severus was absolutely helpless. Leonard was crying, and he had no idea how to make him stop. "Hermione, please," he said sternly.

"No. You shout, he cries, you soothe him. Goddaddy," she grinned and never took her eyes off the child and him.

xx

Oh, but he was so out of his depth again. And she had to admit to herself that it had something to see him for once not knowing exactly what he was doing. And Leonard just had a little temper tantrum, or maybe he had been puzzled by Severus's outraged cry, but it was nothing serious. He had eaten, he had done all the other things that children usually did, he was fine. Just annoyed, probably.

And Severus was very cute. He tried at first to gently rock him, and when that didn't work, he looked helpless at her again.

"It sometimes helps if you cuddle him," she grinned widely.

"C-cuddling?" he stuttered slightly.

"Yes," she nodded, "you lift him to your chest and..."

"I know what cuddling means," he huffed. "But I'm not doing that."

"You will," she said sternly. "He is your godson and you will cuddle him. I'm not telling anyone."

The screams got louder, and Severus seemed more desperate but a moment later, he scowled at her and lifted her boy to his chest, his little head, secured by Severus's right hand (and he did that probably on instinct, not because he looked like he had a lot of experience with children), his left stroking over her baby's back soothingly. He would get the hang of it – even though, well, he did know that his wife (or was she?) expected a baby from another man.

"Severus, are you getting a divorce?" she asked hesitantly.

He grimaced but didn't stop calming Leonard, his large hand cradling the head and the other still stroking her back. "Yes," he said and seemed to take a deep breath, "I got the papers the day before yesterday. She filed for it."

"Oh dear," she said softly, "I'm sorry."

Something seemed to bubble right under the surface, something he did not allow to let burst, but the strokes on Leonard's back, while still gentle, grew faster he swallowed hard, then he spoke, his voice still low but angry. "What about? That I threw my wife out after discovering that she is pregnant by another man? And that this man is a damn Weasley? She cheated on me, Hermione and I felt guilty for even cons..." he stopped abruptly, getting up, Leonard safely in his arms, and walked around his desk, and with the meanest scowl she had ever seen on his face, he handed her the child and while he seemed very angry, he handled him with the utmost care and only pulled his own hands away, brushing over hers, when she had her child in her arms.

"Severus, what?" she asked, "You feel guilty for even cons...considering? What?"

"I think this visit is over now," he spat.

"What? What's going on? I know you're angry but..." she stopped herself in time. He looked ready to hex something (or someone but that wasn't a good idea since the only people there were were herself and Leonard). She shook her head and got up. "I'm sorry I said...I don't know what I said that made you angry. I'm sorry you're angry. I only want to help. I know you don't talk to people and you're pushing all of that only down. You will get an ulcer. Or...anything."

"Hermione," he said threateningly.

"No, Severus, tell me at least what I said that made you angry, please," she said slowly and Leonard was still crying. She patted his back and kissed his head gently and before she cuddled him close and turned her eyes on Severus. He looked, for a brief moment, that he needed hugging as well. Maybe more than her baby now. He looked so alone standing there. And behind that scowl was an incredibly hurt expression.

Slowly, she lifted her wand and transfigured the chair she had sat on, into a crib and, kissing her boy, she stepped closer to Severus and sadly shook her head when he wanted to speak. Slowly, her arms went around him.

"You were there for me when I needed you. Let me do the same for you, please," she whispered and tightened her hold on him, pressing her head slightly against his upper chest and collarbone and after a moment, and no, she wasn't loosening her tight on him, she felt his arms doing around her as well, resting on her back, his fingers splayed widely and his head fell somehow – fell to rest on her neck, his face cradled by her neck.

It was not quite what she had expected of Severus. Not this. Not this clinging to her suddenly. It seemed, when everything was said and done – very un-Severus behaviour.

xx

He could not believe that he had been so stupid as to almost mention that he felt guilty about – well – her. Or rather considering being with her. Not that it would have worked, but oh well.

And now he stood there, and he could feel the soft skin of her neck on his forehead and his nose and he was so tempted to kiss her. Just kiss her neck. It was within reach, but he couldn't – he wouldn't. He just stood there and breathed in her scent and hold her to him and she was thinking she was consoling him.

But she did so much more. She soothed his shattered pride, she hugged him lovingly, she touched him and she let him rest his face against her neck. He had the woman he wanted in his arms and she was here, hugging him. It was almost like a dream come true. And he quite forgot about Aleia and her damn behaviour and her cheating and her living with Weasley now. He forgot about everything around him and he do wanted to keep this moment in his mind forever, wanted to remember every little bit, every movement she made, every nuance of her scent, her touch, everything. Just everything.

It would be all he would have. Probably.

A moment or an eternity later, he came back to himself and he heard the baby crying and even though he did not want to, he stood upright, pulled his face away from her neck.

He nodded at her slowly and she smiled. She smiled so sweetly. "Your child," he said thickly, not taken his eyes off her, trying his best to memorise everything about her in that moment.

"Why don't you pick him up?" she asked and smiled.

"But..."

"Come on," she winked slowly at him. "Pick him up and cuddle him. He was almost quiet before."

"I can't, Hermione," he replied and shook his head. "Would you leave me alone for a while?"

She bit her bottom lip, then nodded. "I will come back later though. And if it's okay with you, I'd like to eat with you tonight. I can't really go to the Great Hall with Leonard and since you seem not to talk to anyone anyway..."

"Fine," he drawled, pulling himself together. Eating with her. Not a good idea. But at least Leonard would be there as well. And he could just ignore how beautiful she looked. And focus on the child. Simple.

xx

She smiled. As long as he talked to her, things would be fine. And he would get it out, she would find out what he had meant sooner. Leonard would be a great help as well. She could see that he loved him already. Besides, meals with Severus alone? Decent conversation and him there. She liked Severus and him so vulnerable even if he hid it beneath silence and the docking of points? No. In that state, he should not be exposed to all those gossipy old broads.

_**xx**_


	19. August 2004 December 2007

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

**August 2004**

Hermione stared out of the window of Ginny's former room in the Burrow. She was alone in the room, had sent everyone away, Molly, her mother, Ginny. They were all waiting for her downstairs in the garden. Half of the guests sitting on the white folding chairs, the other half milling around, talking to one another. It struck her as a very, well, American wedding. She had wanted to get married in a church. Old-fashioned, classy. With her in a white dress and not those bulky robes that were apparently some sort of custom. Hadn't been a custom when Fleur had gotten married, though Ginny had worn them as well.

She sighed softly to herself. It was probably just premarital jitters, fear of being tied to one person for the rest of her life, but she couldn't help doubting that she was doing the right thing. She loved Ron, yes, but down there on the lawn, she could see her future. Ron, nudging Harry and Ginny, with her very visible, very pregnant tummy trying to get those two to be good. Children running around, Fleur waddling because she was pregnant too (again).

And then she saw Severus Snape. Standing all alone there, holding everyone at arm's length. Minerva was closest to him and even she seemed to be miles away from him. He had his arms crossed over his chest and scowled. But he had come. Obviously hated it but had come nevertheless.

Nobody could get close to this man. She had tried but had been quite unsuccessful. All of them probably were by the way he was standing there, so cold, somehow. And to think that she had seen this man at his weakest. He looked nothing like that man who's hand she had held when he had been in that coma. When he had almost died. This down there was like they had known him back at school.

She wasn't sure why she thought about Severus Snape – and staring at him – on her wedding day. It certainly wasn't that she was attracted to him. It wasn't that but he was so interesting and having a conversation with him was – brilliant – once he warmed up and actually talked.

And Ron. She loved Ron and she wanted to be with him. But marriage? He had asked and she had, sort of because people usually did when they loved the other, said yes. And the machine had started rolling. Molly had gone all out, her mother, despite the cancer, had gone all out. And she was in the middle of it. And then it had all happened so fast. She was sure that she wanted to be with Ron. But this entire matter, the white folding chairs and the funny looking Ministry official was not what she had pictured when she had fantasised about her wedding.

This was not a church and a minister. This was not only the closest family and friends – this was everyone she had ever met or not met. She had always thought if she were to marry (something she hadn't always taken for granted), it would be a quiet event, a celebration of her love to a man and vice versa and not a bloody fair.

But then, suddenly, Ron stopped shoving Harry around and stood straight, looking up at the window she was standing at and he was smiling, apparently having seen the curtain twitch. Smiled up at her, raised his hand a little and her heart soared up in her chest. This was the reason why she was here, why she was doing this. She smiled, raised her hand as well and gathering up her skirts, she rushed out of the room and down the stairs.

Getting married.

xx

**December 2007**

Sometimes, Severus knew, it was important to look outside the box. He often did, and for research purposes, for his own amusement, entertainment, he ventured into Muggle libraries or bookshops on the weekends. He especially like the antique book stores, those that he could get lost in for hours, shelves as high as the ceiling, books stacked in two or three rows. Real treasures hidden underneath piles of dust and behind heavy curtains of the very specific smell of old paper.

He always went in in Muggle clothes and with enough money to buy all the books he wanted. It was all the solace he had – but truth be told, he had been thinking about finding himself a wife. Not seriously, of course, but he was a more or less respectable and respected member of Wizarding Society and Minerva still dragged him to all those Weasley meetings and seeing all of them there so happily married, they had someone to talk to about the books they read.

Well, maybe not all of them. Maybe, Hermione Granger could not talk to her husband about the books she read. He seriously doubted that he would even understand half of what she was talking about – let alone reading. A wife like Hermione Granger – without the know-it-all-ness – that would be a wife for him. A woman like her. Smart, well-read, inquisitive, passionate. But less talkative.

He didn't think about it all that much though. And collecting books was still his life so when he had wriggled out taking the students to Hogsmeade (again), he had ventured out into the Muggle world again, and straight into the next book shop he could find. He had been in there before, run by an old man, and the last time he had been in, he had found a wonderful first edition of The Great Gatsby.

He went in there, quietly, hunting. Feeling elated by the prospect of going home again with his pockets full of shrunken books, shrunken treasures that he would savour and digest in the sanctity of his own quarters. Slowly, he moved to the shelf in the back, always working from the back to the front, systematically. His eyes were on the books as soon as he had put himself in front of the first shelf he was working through, pulling one or the other from shelves, always careful of the others and suddenly, he was bumped at from behind. Someone had just run into him. Nobody dared to run into him.

He turned around sharply, ready to snark and glare and berate that person when he saw who it actually was. And that person, stared at him, wide-eyed, her hand in front of her mouth.

"Professor Snape," she said and he remembered her as a buck-toothed, bandy-legged little Ravenclaw. She wasn't any more. Her legs were long and nicely shaped, and she wore a short skirt and was barefoot, her hair was long and blonde and her teeth fixed. She did not look like that any more. And yes, he remembered her.

"Miss Stapelton," he replied and couldn't think of anything else to say. What would anyone say if they ran into a former student in Muggle antique book store.

"Erm," she smiled broadly. "How are you? What are you doing here?"

"I would have thought that was obvious," he said sharply and pointed at the book in his hand.

"Oh, we only got that in yesterday," she said excitedly.

"We?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes, I work here now. Have been for a while, really. It's my Uncle's shop," she smiled. "I've lived with him for a while after my parents emigrated to New Zealand."

He nodded – surprised at this. But then again, she was a half-blood, like himself, and he had heard that her parents had left – but had always suspected (and the other Death Eaters apparently had thought so too) that she had left with them. Apparently not. And she ran a book store. She was beautiful. And she hadn't looked at him as if she wanted to kill him. Someone like her – a wife? He would have to think about it. But it seemed like a good idea. Aleia Stapelton. Maybe, he would not have to die alone. If he didn't play this stupidly.

"You're still at Hogwarts, right?" she asked, still smiling.

"Yes," he answered, trying to remind half-way kind. He would try. It would be his next big challenge. Finding a wife that would stay with him. He was tired of always being alone. And she was beautiful and apparently read a lot.

"I always liked Potions," she whispered. "Oh, I think I have something for you."

She winked slowly and on her bare feet, she rushed away. Severus had no idea what she was doing, where she was going but she returned only a moment later and handed him a book.

"An old woman sold this to us and I think you might be interested."

"A second edition of Moste Potente Potions?" he asked, trying not to sound too excited.

"Yes," she nodded.

He stared at the book, and cleared his throat. "I'm afraid my budget does not..."

She interrupted him with her laughter and – a hand on his arm. "Forget about it. Take it. I can't sell it anyhow."

He stared at her with her blue eyes and her bare feet and legs (they were very long) and her hair and made a decision. An out of character decision, something he had never done before, and something he would probably never do again in his life.

"Then, Miss Stapelton, at least allow me to buy you dinner," he said and was astonished by how easy this way – and how bright her smile was when she understood – and nodded.

_**xx**_


	20. Immerschoen

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

He stared at the white-washed ceiling, his arms crossed behind his head. The ceiling almost glowing in his room that was only illuminated by a candle by his bedside, and the walls invisible to him. The mercy of sleep would just not come that night. Too many images flashing before his eyes, too prominent to even try to push them back by Occlumency. Hermione and Leonard, in his rooms, the little one in his arms and in a crib Hermione had transfigured. Sleeping peacefully and crying. Hermione handing him a bottle and the baby being fed by someone who had never before fed a child, much less such a tiny one. Leonard spitting some of the milk on his robes and Hermione laughing.

Hermione laughing.

It soothed his soul to see her laughing, to see her eating, to see her enjoying herself. It had soothed him to see her take the baby from his arms and putting him down into the crib to sleep. It soothed him to see her raise her wand and clean the spat-up milk from the otherwise immaculately black robes. And she smiled a lot. She ate with him, made light conversation and always stayed away from the horrendous topic of his former wife and her new lover. She talked about potions and his classes and how much her older son was looking forward to enter Hogwarts. She didn't talk about those wizards he knew she still had in the back of her head, those she planned to hunt down and probably kill and he didn't talk about his efforts in that direction either. She just made an effort herself to distract him, she knew.

And she was so beautiful with her curly hair framing her face, her skin having gained more colour and by the end of the meal, her cheeks sporting a lovely, rosy colour. He had just wanted to cradle those cheeks in his palms, kiss her lips, hold her, touch her, carry her to his bed and just show her what she meant to him – the world – the most precious treasure. But of course he wouldn't – couldn't. He just looked at her, was mesmerised by her sight and listened to her. Listened what she had to say.

Oh but it had been a bad idea to store all this in his memory. It kept him from sleeping, it kept him awake. And what was more, she had wanted to hug him again just before she had left. It had only been his quick reaction that had kept him out of the trouble of feeling that again. It would have been more than he could bear. He still felt her hugging from that afternoon and he could feel little Leonard grasping his finger and suckling on the bottle when he had fed him.

He had fed a baby and the same baby had burped on his robes and had then fallen asleep in his arms. He had never expected to feel such a thing – and it felt very ironic to him. Very, very ironic.

Here he was, having a godson, and feeling something inexplicable for the baby, even though he hated to admit that fact, and all the while, being so sure that he never wanted to be a father. Doing everything in his power not to impregnate his former wife (who was technically still his wife – though Merlin only knew for how long) and then feeling this for a child that was not his.

He sat up and stared into the light of the candle. It had been one of the few things Aleia and him had always fought about. And he couldn't stop wondering whether he would still be somewhat happy with Aleia had he given in. And one of those little ones for himself. Oh but no, a child of his and Aleia's could have never been like this.

Sweet irony though – his wife having another man's child and him, holding Hermione's and for the lack of a father, probably a father figure for little Leonard.

"Odd," he muttered, running his hand over his face, rubbing his eyes. Might as well give up on sleeping.

xx

Hermione sat in bed, a book leaning against her thighs. She was absolutely knackered but sleep just wouldn't come. And the way she had gotten to know her son, he would be hungry any moment now in any case. Severus had changed. But who wouldn't change if the wife left? And was pregnant from another man. He seemed quieter, less snippy and absolutely transfixed by Leonard.

Of course Leonard was a terribly adorable baby. He cried a lot, yes, but when he was cuddled, he stopped sooner rather than later, and Severus had the touch, it seemed. Leonard liked him, and that was positive. He was the godfather after all and Leonard did not have a real father any more, Severus would have, to a certain extent, take that place. And she was sure he would. He was always so dutiful.

And more – he was absolutely in love with her son. She had never seen his face so gentle, so soft, not even when he had been newly together with Aleia. He had been so careful, so cautious and yet protective. Besides, it was just a sight she enjoyed. The big, mean former Death Eater, being so gentle and lovely to a tiny little baby in his arms. And yes, just for kicks she had dressed Leonard all in white and the little white bundle with the pink hands and pink face in a sea of black was just something she had wanted to put on celluloid – or a wizarding picture would do, actually.

She would have to do it regularly and she had the big plan of letting Severus babysit once in a while. He would be great. It would just take a few weeks and a bit of both of them getting used to the idea but she would have to leave Leonard eventually, for a while, in the care of someone else and who better than Severus? He loved the boy and the boy seemed to like him. And they got along. A bit of tutoring when it came to changing nappies and some such things and Severus would be all set to watch over him.

So she could go and hunt down those bastards that had killed her husband.

Leonard – on cue – began to cry and she picked him up, smiled fiercely and looked at him. "Yes, baby, we will revenge your daddy."

xx

He strode through the dark Alley, neither looking right nor left. He knew where he wanted to go and he knew what kind of people he could expect there. He had a half-cast shield charm hovering over himself and his wand drawn. He still knew his old spells, the one he had needed during the olden days but that was a new generation of wizards. There were probably other spells these days, spells he did not know, spells he had never heard of. But he was as prepared as he could be.

And he was still a former Death Eater. And as such, that commanded respect – even in the younger generation. Besides, he only wanted information. And if he could find out enough – well, then so be it.

He had a plan. Questioning people and as soon as he had found who he was looking for a drop of Veritaserum – and then no questions any more. Quick kill. He could cover up his traces. He knew how to do this. And as soon as it was done, Hermione wouldn't have to endanger herself. She had to be there for Leonard. She couldn't be chasing wizards at all. He would do it for her. He wanted to do it for her.

And if it meant that he was hurt doing it, then so be it. It was for Hermione. And for her, and for her safety, he would do a lot more.

He pushed the door to the club open, and a bulky man stood in the foyer, eyeing him suspiciously. He glared back and the bulky man stepped aside. Oh, it had paid off that he had kept his Death Eater robes in the back of his closet in a sealed box.

There was blaring music, wild light, and a humid heat engulfed him immediately. Outwardly a Muggle club but Muggles never went in. Were kept away but all those figures in there, dancing with weird movements, weren't like the Wizards he knew. They were young, yes, but their faces empty in the harsh, wild light. It seemed quite clear that they were drugged. Now to find someone who was clear in the head enough to tell him where he would find the people he needed to find.

He let his eyes roam the room and slowly, leaning against a dark wall, pulled out the pictures he had received from his contact and couldn't believe his luck. It seemed, he had struck gold. Gold immediately. Two of those that had been on Hermione's list sat there in the corner, a man and obviously his girlfriend – and their faces were less empty and they were holding something in their hands, handing it over to another person.

He aimed his wand at the male first and with a smirk on his face, he only thought the incantation – only thought "Imperio."

Then, the same with the woman and their faces went truly blank and a moment later, both of them walked towards him. He knew the Alley like the back of his hand – he knew the places he could give them the Veritaserum. He knew where to dispose of their bodies. It was all so simple. So easy. He had not thought it would be this easy and only hoped now – truly hoped that it was Ronald Weasley's murderers. Or that they could at least tell him where to find them.

Otherwise he would probably go to Azkaban for using an Unforgivable – and a restricted substance – for nothing. Even though, well, nobody in that club full of drugged people had seen him or heard him. He couldn't be detected – he hoped.

Leisurely, he followed the two, the hood drawn over his face. It was simple to control their minds, already clouded by the Immerschoen and they didn't fight it one bit. No, they just walked stiffly into a side alley, leaning against the wall like he had told them to do and it was so simple – too simple, maybe, to pour a few drops of Veritaserum down their throats.

"What is your name?" he asked, disguising his voice.

"Ernest Tonvas", the man said mechanically.

"Angela Samuel," the woman said almost at the same time, in the same mechanical way.

Perfect. Those were two of Hermione's list – and two of those he, and his contacts suspected most.

"Are you using the drug Immerschoen?" he asked.

"Yes," both said at the same time.

"Are you selling this drug?"

"Yes," both of them replied again.

"Did you kill Ronald Weasley?"

"No," the woman said.

"No," the man said half a second later.

This was surprising. The Veritaserum worked. Worked even better with the Imperius Curse on them. They should have confessed that they were a part of this. That they had killed Weasley. Both him and Hermione wrong in their assumptions?

"Do you know who killed Ronald Weasley?"

No," both of them said at the same time.

"Do you know Ronald Weasley?"

"No," they said again and Severus was dumbstruck. It had been too easy. And they had been wrong. Him and Hermione. Even though – they might not know his name.

"Did you kill the Auror that showed up here and interrupted the dealing?" he asked, trying for another angle.

"No," they said in unison again.

"Do you know about the Auror? Well, two Aurors. That came her on December 8th?"

"No."

This was useless. They were stupid drug-addicts that dealt on the side. Nothing more, nothing less. Still, maybe something good could come of it. He could send them to the next Auror station, but someone would surely detect the Veritaserum, and the Imperius Curse. He couldn't do that. But he could do something else.

"Take all of the Immerschoen you have on you," he commanded coldly and with a grim expression watched as the two of them overdosed.

_**xx**_


	21. The proper conduct of a wife

_**The usual disclaimers apply.**_

_**xx**_

She opened the door, the baby sleeping, and smilingly, she fell into the arms that had held her so often before and the arms of the woman that had, after the death of her own mother to treacherous cancer, had been a mother figure, a surrogate mother. And for such a long time, her mother-in-law. The best anyone could imagine. Ever. And she was there, at Hogwarts, coming to see her – and her newest grandchild for the first time today.

"Molly," she could only gasp before she fell further into the woman's arms and let herself be hugged tightly. It felt warm, it felt secure, it felt just right. And Hermione was glad that Molly had come. She had, more than once, thought about going to the Burrow, making sure everyone saw little Leonard but up until then, she had been in the Hospital Wing and had the thing with Severus to clear up. She had then planned the go the next weekend, when there were more of the Weasleys present but Molly was there now.

"Hermione," she spoke gently and kissed her soundly. "Now, where is my Ronnie's baby?"

She was, she had to admit, a little bit taken aback at this. But of course it was Ron's child. And Molly wanted to see the last legacy of her dead son. Naturally.

"He's sleeping," she replied and stepped out of the embrace and pointed at the sleeping child. "But he should be up soon again. I can have tea brought up if you like." But she was already speaking to thin air. Her mother-in-law had already rushed past her and was bending over Leonard – and picked him up. Not the best idea. Certainly not the best idea. Leonard was a bit fussy. And he did cry a lot. Especially when someone woke him – and someone strange at that. He had screamed bloody murder when Minerva McGonagall had picked him up just like Molly was now and it had taken a lot of effort on her part to calm him. Severus and Poppy were the only two other people that could risk holding him.

And on cue – Leonard began. His little features scrunched up, his face completely red and angry looking. Molly did her best, and she was experienced with children, and cuddled him, crying herself.

xx

Severus glared. It was, after all, what he did best. "No, they had nothing to do with it. I need names, McCarren. Not only small scale dealers. I need to know what happened that night and what was going on there."

Slowly, he pushed the wand deeper into the neck of bloated, dowdy, sallow man. "You will tell me or you will go the same way those two went. And the Daily Prophet, as well as The Quibbler will hear of your little secrets."

"I don't know anything, Snape," he grunted, "they were not small scale. They supplied most of the users."

"Then who killed Ronald Weasley?" Severus asked coldly, the wand digging even deeper into the wobbly neck of the man.

"I don't know."

"You will. I will come back very soon and you will have information about me. You do know what I am capable of, do you not?"

The man nodded, breathing sharply, unevenly, "I try."

"Try harder."

He pulled his wand away and, without further ado, apparated away.

xx

"It will only be my Father there, love. My Mother went to Hogwarts this morning to see the baby and Dad said he couldn't because of work. We can tell him and wait for Mum," he said softly and held her hand, stroking her knuckles. "And they will be happy. They know that you're living with me now but I haven't told them about...the little one."

She sighed. "I don't know, Charlie. It's..."

"You're not beginning to feel guilty, are you?"

"Of course I feel guilty," she yanked her hand away. "I betrayed my husband. I cheated on him. I'm married to another man and I'm going to have your child. Of course I feel guilty."

He stared at her. "You never said," he whispered.

"Of course I never said anything. I don't say I'm unhappy but I feel guilty. Charlie, I am still married. I'm Mrs Severus Snape. Not for long now but I still am. And I didn't...plan on this to happen. I took my vows and I thought they were forever."

"You were unhappy, Aleia," he said sharply. "And don't say you weren't."

"Of course I was. But I should have talked to him."

Charlie stared at her dumbfoundedly. "Do you want to leave? Do you want to go back to him?" he asked – incredulously.

She shook her head. Feeling utterly miserable. "No. No, I want to get a divorce and I'm happy with you. I'm sorry, Charlie, maybe I just have weird hormones now. I'm sorry. I love you. I want to be with you."

"But you feel guilty?"

"Don't you?"

He sighed gently and hugged her. "I wouldn't want to see him at the moment, to be honest."

xx

He saw Hermione. Carrying his godson across the grass towards the Black Lake, a red headed woman next to her. Molly Weasley.

He had not seen her since the funeral and he couldn't honestly say that Molly Weasley looked well. She had lost weight and her posture was bad. And really, Molly Weasley letting someone else carry a baby – whether it was a relation of hers or not – while she was close? That seemed quite out of character for her. Molly Weasley was one of those women that never passed up the chance to hold a baby. And this was her newest, smallest grandson. Her late son's Ronald's son. And she merely walked next to Hermione?

Before he knew what he was doing, he strode towards them, his mood, well, not good but not bad either. He would catch those people. Sooner, rather than later.

"Severus," Hermione smiled. "Want to walk a bit with us?"

He was about to shake his head – but Molly Weasley, her face drawn, sunken, pale, looked at him, stared at him – and he knew, he just knew that she knew. And he couldn't truly judge what she was thinking.

"Oh Severus," she gasped a moment later, and another moment later, he found himself in a stranglehold, pressed against Molly's still ample bosom. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Charlie told us."

He was a former Death Eater. He had killed Albus Dumbledore. He had to endure painful things in order to survive the two wars against the Dark Lord. And now, to top it all off, he was publicly humiliated by his wife. Still his wife. Not long now. But Molly Weasley, the essence of Gryffindor goodness and the essence of willingness to hug and cuddle was there, on Hogwarts grounds, where everyone could see, hugging him, right there, this was the worst thing that had ever happened in his life. Molly Weasley pitying him.

He roughly disentangled himself from her and glared. "Well, I do understand that you have other things on your mind at the moment," he said, trying at least to pretend to be somewhat considerate, "but you might want to teach your sons not to impregnate other people's wives."

"Impregn...what?" Molly asked, paling further.

"Aleia is pregnant, Molly. Didn't you know? I thought Charlie told you?" Hermione asked, gently and he, for a second, looked at her. She looked about ready to put Leonard into his arms again – but he had seen through her little trick. She was doing this not for him, or for the baby. She was doing this because she was afraid that he could hex someone. Or hurt someone. Sly. He stepped back and turned his eye back on Molly.

"Charlie only said that they fell in love and that she left you and moved in with him," she said softly, tears pooling in her eyes and Severus felt himself weakening. He should not have mentioned her sons, knowing that she had lost two. No matter how angry, how mad he was at Charlie Weasley, this woman had probably not realised much that was going on around her lately. Her outward appearance showed that clearly. She had never been this thin.

Hermione wanted to say something but with a raised hand, he stopped her. "No," he said, his tone still cold, "your son and my wife had an affair. Your son will be a father and my wife, who already filed for divorce, the mother. And she did not leave. I threw her out," he said, and with a last glance at both women, and at his godson, he turned and rushed away. Away from the woman he was in love with, away from the mother of the late husband of the woman he was in love with, away from his godson who was also the son of the woman he was in love with.

Maybe, he thought, as he all but ran through the corridors of Hogwarts, he should leave as well. He had never done anything but teach in his entire life, had started so early, barely out of school himself, and had never truly minded. But this, this was too much.

It had been bearable with Hermione far away, living her own life, it had been bearable knowing that she was happy with another man. This now, her being free of a husband and him being free of a wife, this was not bearable. She was so close, and yet, he would never have her. They were both free, and yet, they weren't. And he already loved her child. And this was not right. Definitely not right. He would have to go, have to leave. Get away from Hermione and Leonard and that would stop his daydreams. Would stop people pitying him because she had to get a baby from another man. Would stop letting him realise how humiliated he had been by his wife.

He would have to leave.

He took a sharp turn – and instead of going to the dungeons as he had planned, he took the stairs. Straight up to the Headmistress's office.

xx

"Is that true?" Molly asked, her eyes wide and shocked.

Hermione nodded. "Yes. I don't know how long it's been going on, really, but when Severus found out, he threw her out."

"Charlie? My Charlie doing this to a friend of the family?" Molly asked, leaning against the next tree.

Hermione sighed and followed her, carefully manoeuvring the baby to lie more comfortable in the crook of her arm. "Severus sort of implied that they were unhappy in their marriage."

The older woman shook her head and it seemed to Hermione that this, somehow, more than seeing her grandson, more than this visit to Hogwarts, had pulled her out of her mourning daze. "Charlie is a decent man. And he should know that you do not destroy marriage. No matter how unhappy it is. An affair is unacceptable."

"They're in love, I think," Hermione offered helplessly.

"Then she should have gotten a divorce first instead of doing this to Severus. Don't they realise that he deserved a good wife and a happy family? Does this woman even know what he's done to keep us all save during the war? Does she?"

Hermione stared bemusedly at her mother-in-law. Those were not exactly new words coming from her, but the strength, the conviction with which they were spoken was quite new. And yes, she agreed – but maybe..."Maybe Aleia wasn't the right woman for him. Maybe they fell out of love again and..."

"It does not matter. Then you get divorced first. At least then you know what you're dealing with. Sneaking behind someone's back? Betraying vows you gave? No, Hermione, no."

She shook her head again and Hermione was glad, in a way, to see a bit of colour returning to the woman's cheeks. She was, however, quite surprised when she leant over, kissed Leonard's forehead and then hers.

"I have to talk to my son about decency. And to this woman about how a wife should act, and about contraceptive charms. I will owl you and please come home for the weekend."

Hermione could only nod. This had obviously made her, for a moment, forget about Ron. And she was glad to see her so active again.

xx

"I understand," the Headmistress said gently. "But leave entirely?"

"Yes," he said.

"It is humiliating. I really understand, but I can't let you go. I need a potions master, Severus," she frowned, her eyes – somewhat – sad. "However," she said after a moment of silence, "I may – oh sod it, Severus, take a sabbatical. Go. Go for a year and see how you feel then."

"No fight about this?"

She shook her head. "No. I will probably ask Vanderbilt to teach it for the time being and if you decide you need a change, then, I will have to look for someone else."

He frowned. He had not truly not expected this. Oh on the way up, he had made all kinds of plans. He had money for the time being. Stay in Britain, Spinner's End, yes, maybe travel occasionally, but spend his time catching those wizards that had killed Ronald Weasley, and then, travel more. See South America, see Africa, Asia, the rest of Europe, the rest of the world. And not be bothered with dunderheads. And most importantly, not seeing Hermione. He would miss her, yes, but it was better to just go. And cut her from his heart and his mind.

"I know you didn't expect this," she said wisely, slowly and gently, "but I also know that you're a proud man. And sooner or later, it will be all over the school. And to be betrayed like this...," she shook her head. "No, I understand. Just give me a week to settle who will teach instead of you, please."

He nodded, astonished. "Thank you, Minerva."

_**xx**_


	22. Good bye

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

"Arthur?" Molly cried, stepping into the Burrow. She needed to floo to Charlie's and talk to him. Love was fine and dandy and getting together too – but wrecking a home was not. Aleia should have left beforehand. Then, after a decent interval, those two could have gotten together, could have even have a child. But not in reverse order, definitely not.

"We're in the kitchen," her husband called and she frowned quickly. We? George couldn't be, he had his shop to mind as Angelina was busy with the children. Bill was in France with Fleur and Ginny was in Ireland reporting a Quidditch match. She rushed into the kitchen – and turned her glare on upon seeing what she had half-expected after doing the inventory in her head.

Charlie with Severus Snape's wife, sitting there, holding hands.

"Explain yourselves," she said coldly.

"Hello Mum," Charlie replied puzzled.

"I want to know what in Merlin's name gave you the idea of betraying Severus like this?" she moved quickly to the table and leaned over, her hands on the top, her nose almost touching her son's.

"I told you," he responded, calmly. Too calmly for Molly's taste.

"You did forget to tell me that you got her pregnant before she moved out," she shouted.

"I didn't love him any more, Molly," Aleia said quietly. "He and I were over."

"That is all fine, but you separate, you get a divorce and then you move in with another man and get yourself pregnant," Molly faced her. "Not the other way around."

"She was unhappy and we're in love," Charlie interrupted.

"Have you never heard of marriage vows?" she yelled. "You stick to these vows even if you don't die if you don't. You, Charlie, you know they are married. Couldn't control your animalistic urges like a teenager? You brought shame over this family. Don't you two have any morality? Nothing at all? I will not stand in Severus's way if he calls you out on your honour. And he would have every right to do it too. Do you have no shame at all? And you, Aleia, betraying Severus like this? He does not deserve it. You gave your word. You vowed yourself to him. To stick to him. You stick to those vows and you don't run away to let yourself be impregnated by another man as soon as you think you don't love your husband any more. I can't believe you two. Betraying him like this. Severus is a good man. What has he ever done to you to deserve this? And getting pregnant right away? Are you daft? Have you never heard of Contraceptives?"

Both her son and his new mistress wanted to say something but she only shook her head fiercely. "I don't want to hear it. So you don't love your husband any more? Brilliant," she shouted sarcastically. "Then you leave. You're not thrown out because you're having an affair. An affair, Charlie. I really thought I had raised you better than that."

She shook her head again. "I never thought you two would do something so despicable," she said angrily and with a last glare at both of them, still sitting there with their hands entwined, she left the kitchen.

She would probably have to write Severus – and tell him she was sorry that her son had done this to him.

xx

"He wants to do what?" Hermione asked, her mouth wide open, her eyes just as open and Leonard, probably sensing the tension on the room, began to whimper in the basket the Headmistress had conjured for him.

"He wants to leave, Hermione," Minerva replied gently. "Severus is a very proud man. And this entire matter seriously dented his pride. I can't blame him."

"But...but he can't. He has...Leonard. Leonard is his godson. He was there for me. I need him," she stuttered, knowing she wasn't making much sense. But he couldn't leave. She turned to him. She knew he was there. She knew he listened and she knew he could console her. He was like a rock. He was the one constant she had in her life right now. The one person that had been in her life for such a long time. And he was leaving her too? First Ron, now him?

Yes, yes, she knew she was irrational. But she couldn't be abandoned by another person. Not right now. Not by him.

"Hermione, don't take it personally," Minerva interrupted her thoughts wisely. "He will not disappear from the face of the earth. He just needs to be away from this castle and its gossiping inhabitants. He will probably move to Spinner's End and work on a few potions or write a book. I will miss having him around him too, but he needs to leave this place for a while. And he's leaving this place, not his godson or any other person."

"But...," she stuttered still. "I can't...I need him. He took care of me after Ron..."

"You're not alone, dear. Not even if he leaves," the older woman replied softly. "And you're a witch, you can apparate to him any time."

xx

He had thought. Long and hard. And well, Minerva was probably right. He liked teaching, despite what everyone said or suspected about him. He loved this castle. And he would take a year or so, a while, at least, away. To get Hermione out of his head and his heart and to forget about his wife and her betrayal. To spend some time solely with himself. To have time to focus on the important things. Potions, books, new spells, and of course Weasley's killers. McCarren, his informant in that milieu had sent him an owl, letting him know he might have news. He would go and see him, as soon as this box was packed and the rest of the books he wanted to take.

And as soon as he had boxed up the rest of his wife's things and sent them to hell, probably. It wasn't much she had left, she hadn't taken. But enough to remind him. And those were his rooms and he wanted them to be his rooms if – if, not when – he returned. He would seal them. As soon as they were only his again and his alone.

He was only glad that nobody but the Headmistress knew he would be leaving today after all. Vanderbilt had been happy to teach in his stead and would arrive today as well. She had said nothing, as far as he knew, to anyone. Nobody at least had approached him about it yet.

And he was afraid of sorts, of Hermione's reaction. He was, after all, leaving his godson behind as well. And him, he would miss. The little one that always grabbed his finger and blinked at him and would maybe, eventually, smile at him. Wouldn't happen. By the time he planned on returning – if he would ever be returning – the baby would not remember him. And by then, Leonard would be completely influenced by the Weasleys and Potter and would already be a model Gryffindor, honouring his dead father. It would have to be done. He would have to leave.

Carefully, he levitated another stack of notebooks in a box and sealed it before shrinking it. Just a few more of the notes he had made in those little black books over the years, and those he hoped he would be putting to good use in the next weeks and months.

And then only the knick-knacks his wife had left. A box or two and he was ready. And of course – this was the moment when there was a knock on the door. This had to be the moment. Someone had to come and see him just as he was ready to leave.

He hoped for the Headmistress – really – but her knock was different. She always rather banged on doors instead of the knocking he had heard barely seconds before.

It couldn't be Hermione. He hoped – so hoped – that it wasn't Hermione. He would have written an owl, would have told her he had left but he couldn't possibly see her.

"Severus?" he heard – and it was her. He groaned quietly. Pretend not to be there or not pretend to be there?

"I know you're in. The portrait said so. Please open the door," she called from outside. "Leonard will catch cold in this draughty corridor."

That did it. And she knew it. She knew that he had a weak spot for that child. He huffed and walked to the door, opening it with a glare.

"Thank you," she said, her voice strange, and stepped in, the baby in her arms. Before she said anything else, she enlarged his couch, put bars around it and put him down, kissing his forehead and after straightening, she looked at him. It was definitely not glare. It was hurt, he believed, in her eyes and she slowly came towards him.

"Please don't," she said softly – almost a whisper.

"Did Minerva talk?" he asked, keeping his own voice as cold as he could.

"She told me you'd go. You can't...please. I need you. Your godson needs you," she whispered now and suddenly, she stepped further forward and flung her arms around him. "Please don't go. I can't lose anyone else."

He battled with himself. It would be so simple to stay, to wrap his own arms around her and to hold her and tell her that he wanted to stay for her, that he didn't want to leave her. That he wanted to be in her life for the rest of their lives. It would be difficult to leave. To just cut her out from his life.

But life, he knew, wasn't always simple. In fact, most the times, it wasn't. And this wouldn't be. He allowed himself a moment to just feel her pressing against him, her arms around him before he removed her arms – by the wrists, careful not to touch her bare skin – from around him.

"I have to," he said and allowed himself a last glance at her. She was so beautiful. Even though – there were tears pooling in her eyes now and he didn't understand why. They spent a little time together. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Where are you going?" she asked, choked.

He hesitated a moment before answering. "My old home, first. And then we'll see."

"Why?"

"You know why," he replied and tried to frown. "Now, I'm almost ready to go, so if you'd leave, I'd be very much obliged."

She shook her head. "No," she whispered and her lower lip trembled. It trembled so prettily that he wanted to put his finger on it, run it along it but he kept his hands in fists by his side. He would have to do this.

"Go," he said as coldly as he could muster and he did not dare to look at little Leonard.

"I'll write you," she said, probably admitting defeat. "And your godson will want to see you, too."

He swallowed hard upon seeing her like this. She looked like she was losing something she treasured a lot. But she didn't treasure him. She probably only thought she did after he couldn't leave while she had been in pain from giving birth.

"I need a break, Hermione," he explained neutrally.

"But you don't need to have a break from Leonard, do you?" she asked, sounding too desperate. Hermione had never sounded this way. Why was she so against him leaving? Oh well, this was probably just an emotional time for her. She would forget soon enough.

"Please leave," he said. "I have things to pack up."

She looked at him, a few tears spilling from her eyes and before he knew it, she had lunged herself at him again. "Take care of yourself," she whispered into his chest just before she turned rapidly and picking up Leonard, rushed from his quarters.

And all Severus could do after he heard the door close, was sit down on the couch that his godson had just slept on, put his face in his hands and breathe.

_**xx**_


	23. Surprise Surprise

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**Please note: This is about two months after the last chapter! **_

_**xx**_

He sat in his living room, downing a glass of firewhiskey, three things on the armrest of the broad chair he sat on. A Daily Prophet that the owl had brought just moments ago, a letter, unopened yet, and a roll of parchment.

It had not taken long for Aleia to push through the divorce. Had probably something to do with the fact that Arthur Weasley had a say at the Ministry. That Molly Weasley could influence her husband. That Charlie Weasley was made to marry his now ex-wife. That his ex-wife was pregnant. 2 months. It had taken her only two months to be free of him. So easily dissolved. Over ten years of marriage. But no, he did not truly mourn the end of this marriage. Had even thought it might be quicker with her new connections to the Weasleys. But two months in the Wizarding World for a divorce was not bad.

And now, with that roll of parchment, he had the certificate that he was, once more, a single man. And was back to where he had started out before he had married Aleia. Once more, alone. And not better than he had been back then.

He looked at the envelope surrounding the letter, then shook his head. He knew the handwriting and he could not, right now, read her letter. The third since he had left. All of them with a rather normal ring to it – she usually just told him about Leonard and about Hogwarts. Never about her. Always asked about him. And he had not replied to a single one yet.

With great care not to spill a single drop, he refilled a glass. It was early in the morning, half past six,, yes, but he had had quite the night. And he needed the firewhiskey now.

McCarren had been most forthcoming. Well, after Severus had threatened him and had made sure he had a nasty boil on a part of himself that usually, people did not see but that his wife would. After that, it had been easy. Had taken some time, yes, but those things usually did. And in the end, this entire thing had turned out so differently from what he had expected.

A twist that no writer could have imagined.

"_What do you mean?" Severus asked incredulously. _

"_Just as I'm saying, Snape. Those were not drug dealers."_

_He shook his head. "It can't be. A drug squad? It can't be."_

_McCarren nodded viciously. "It's what I heard. What has been seen by my informant."_

"_Why would they hush it up?" he asked, incredulously. _

"_Because officially, this drug squad does not even exist. Think, Snape. There have been a lot of arrests amongst the Immerschoen dealers after Weasley was killed. Two of the most prominent overdosed and killed themselves. This problem is basically solving itself just by the fact that Weasley has died."_

"_This is not right," Severus shook his head. _

_McCarren shrugged. "Here is a list of names that I could acquire. It will cost you though."_

And he had. The rest had been some spells from his youth, a few anonymously sent letters and since he could not help his finer nature, since he was naturally a vindictive man, and since the Ministry still was somewhat fishy (hiding a drug squad – killing an Auror? – one of their own? And then hiding it?), he had worked out a plan. Embarrassing for the Ministry, leaving his own hands almost, almost clean. At least so clean that they would not be detected in this.

Oh and the newspaper had printed it exactly as he had wanted it to be printed.

With a tiny, self-satisfied smirk, and after another sip of firewhiskey, he read the front page and the following article.

_Six as to yet unnamed Ministry workers have been found stunned and stuck to lampposts in Diagon Alley late last night. All six of them had large white signs hanging from around their necks, stating I killed Ronald Weasley. Upon rennervating them, they started to confess to the murder of Auror and war hero Ronald Weasley. A Healer from St Mungo's that has been called confirmed some form of truth serum in their system. _

_It has been confirmed by a Ministry spokesperson that there had been a department concerning itself solely with narcotics and those six men were in a squad that focused on the new drug Immerschoen. This department has been, until now, kept a secret and the death of Ronald Weasley a mere accident. _

_We from the Daily Prophet cannot help but wonder how employees of the Ministry can possibly kill such a well-known person as Ronald Weasley under the circumstances he has been killed as witnessed by Harry Potter. We will investigate further and will not rest until the murderers of our beloved Ronald Weasley have been submitted to justice. _

His smirk grew. Oh the public outrage. If there was one thing he could rely on – always rely on – it was the fact that the majority of witches and wizards disliked politics and the Ministry and didn't trust them any further than they could hex them. Ronald Weasley had been the best friend of Harry Potter. Harry Potter had seen his death. They were heroes of the war. And those men, killers, would be punished. If not by the Wizengamot, then by people on the streets. A department they knew nothing about? That would not go down well either.

Then there was the Hermione-bonus. Hermione the pregnant widow she had been, now the widow with the baby. They'd be lynched.

Oh yes, he was rather proud of this. The potion would be undetectable by now and even if they found out what it was, there was the recipe in Moste Potente Potions. Any idiot could brew it. No magical traces from him – and nobody had seen him, disillusioned, just checking that they were found and rennervated and asked straight away. And it had all gone smoothly according to plan.

It was done. Now, not quite two months after he had left Hogwarts, he could focus on forgetting Hermione. If only she'd stop writing letters.

Severus poured himself another glass of firewhiskey and downed it. Her letter had arrived quickly after the Prophet. So she would have read it, probably. And he had been too wound up to sleep when he had returned at around 4. It was truly magic how the Prophet to always change their edition so late – or early.

He picked up the letter and without thinking, he brought it up to his face, sniffed on it. It smelled just like her. And a bit like the baby. He knew he shouldn't read it. It was her he was trying to forget. And so far, he had not succeeded one tiny bit. She was in his dreams at night, on his mind during the day. Her writing him did not help. And that sniff of her scent in his nose certainly did not either.

He sighed, wiped his hand over his eyes and opened the envelope, another wave of Hermione washing over him.

_Dear Severus,_

_I've just read the Prophet. Have you? I can't wrap my mind around. They kill one of their own and nobody says so? Who does a thing like that. _

_Can we meet, please? I don't think I'm taking this well. _

_Hermione. _

He folded the piece of parchment and hung his head. Not what he had wanted.

xx

Hermione paced her rooms. She couldn't believe what she had read. She had contacted the Prophet, the Ministry, she had owled Harry and Severus. She had had a visit from the Headmistress. All before seven in the morning. And Leonard was very fussy.

This could not be happening. The Ministry? Killing her husband? The Ministry had confirmed it, more or less. Just a note with an owl.

_Yes, the Daily Prophet is correct._

That was all they offered? She needed more on this. How could they just kill Ron? It was not as if his robes did not show clearly that he was an Auror. Everyone saw that. From a mile away. Even though it had been dark, this was not something not to see. She couldn't believe it.

She had written to Severus in a blind panic, not knowing what to do. Being alone in this – having heard that it had been probably someone's carelessness and then not even admitting to it? In what kind of country did she live? What kind of government did she have?

She kept on shaking her head, not believing, just not believing. And Leonard cried all the time.

Hermione was overwhelmed, overtaxed, overburdened. And alone. She felt utterly, horribly left alone. She had tried to find out who it had been, had not make any progress and it was no wonder if the Ministry was behind it. The Ministry. Or at least a hushed up department. It was all very fishy. And she would get to the bottom of this. But she needed help. She could not do it alone.

And who had found those men? Who had discovered all that?

Severus. Severus had helped. Severus had supported her. Severus had been her friend and she truly needed a friend right now. A friend who saw clearly and whose mind wasn't muddled by grief and horror. So he had not replied to her owls before but he was probably busy with potions or had taken a vacation.

But she knew where he lived. And she had to go and see if he was there. She just had to.

Hermione sighed, wrapped her son tightly in baby-robes and pressed him to her chest before she walked out of the castle, towards the gates.

Severus would help. It was the only thought in her mind. Severus would make her understand what had happened there. He would understand that. He would explain. He would help.

She kissed her son gently on the forehead before she apparated both of them away – to Severus.

_**xx**_


	24. Go away

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

Leonard had snuggled up to her, lying comfortably in the crook of her arm, making soft baby-noises and looking up at her interestedly. She smiled at him, and for the second time, knocked on Severus's door. She had heard stirring inside and supposed he was in. But it was early in the morning and she didn't even know whether the owl had delivered her letter yet. But she needed him – and if she had the chance, she would try and steal one of those Severus-hugs. He had a specific way to hug, she pondered as she waited for the door to open, very tightly with the arms, and chest pressed against chest and he had a way of holding his head. Had always had, those few, very few times, he had hugged her.

Even though, the last time, when she had hugged him, just before he had left, it had been a little different. He had needed her, had drawn strength from her. Probably. It had felt like he wanted to be close in any case.

And she wanted to give him that closeness.

Yes, now she needed him but that didn't necessarily mean that he wouldn't need her either, or that she couldn't be there for him. She knew that Charlie was to marry Aleia. But nobody had been invited. Molly had explained that this was not a cause of celebration. At least not yet. Hermione could tell that this woman disapproved of how this child had been conceived and how their entire relationship had developed. And well, she had not even talked to Aleia yet – her and Charlie truly kept to themselves, never showed up at the Burrow. Apparently, both of them did feel guilty – to a certain extent. Or they were just happy being alone. Who knew?

She huffed. "Severus, really, I know you're home. Please open the door," she cried against the door, knocking again – and a moment later only, she heard how a muggle key being turned in the lock, and a split second later, the door was opened.

And he stood there. Severus. And with him – a wave of the smell of alcohol.

"Good morning," she said gently – and tried not to grimace upon his bad, alcohol-breath. She had never seen him like this and truth be told, it did surprise her a little. It was eight in the morning – and he looked like he hadn't slept at all, like he had been drinking for a while. Not the together Severus she knew. "May I come in?"

"No," he said – sounding surprisingly soberly – but at the same time, he stepped aside and made a path for her. "I got your owl but I can't help you. So you might as well leave."

"Are you drunk?" she asked, trying to sound innocent.

"No," he drawled and she noticed his little, tiny, minute, glance towards his godson before he looked up again, at her, in her eyes. And no, his eyes were not really glassy. They were clear and dark and she could not pinpoint exactly what they expressed. But not, that much was clear, drunkenness. Something deeper.

"Would you hold him?" she asked gently. "He missed you."

"I doubt that," he replied coldly. "What do you want from me, Hermione?"

"I told you," she replied, taken aback, hurt, slightly. He had always been there for her. And now, when she needed him, he acted to coldly. And maybe, she thought, she had used him too much. Had made him godfather without really asking first, had always thrown herself more or less at him when she needed a shoulder to cry on. Had taken him for granted, despite the fact that he hadn't been at Hogwarts for almost two months. And he had left, maybe to be away from it all. Even from her, maybe. To focus on himself.

"I," she began hesitantly, cradling her son closer to her chest, "I just wanted to know whether you know what happened last night, or early this morning with those that killed Ron."

He fixed her with his gaze, and remained silent. He just stood there, in frock coat but without robes, and said absolutely nothing. "Do you know anything about this?" she asked – pleadingly.

"Why should I?" he replied after a moment, almost sneering.

She shook her head, tiredly, worn out, exhausted. She had so hoped that he would support her. But apparently, apart from her children, she was alone. She couldn't count on her parents-in-law to help her with this. And not on Harry. Not on any of the Weasleys. And her friend Aleia – she had completely crawled into a hole with her new lover. Maybe it was meant to be. Maybe she was meant to get through this alone. Maybe it would make her stronger, build even more character. She wasn't sure. But the coldness she was met with, it spoke volumes alone.

She knew when she was unwanted. She knew when it was time for her to go. She looked at him for a moment longer, searching his features for any hint of hope that he would help her, for anything that would compel her to stay – but there was nothing. Blank mask – that was what his face was.

"Good bye, Severus," she whispered, tears swimming in her eyes and turned on her heel.

xx

She suddenly stood there, so beautiful and so lovely. In front of his door. Her hair pulled back, her shoulders tense, the baby in her arms, cradled in the crook of her arm. Stood there, wanting to get in, wanting his help. But how could he? He had left because of her. Not only, but mostly. And she had found him there. Where he had not wanted her at all. With the baby, with her son. With his godson.

And she talked about what had happened the night before. Suspected him to have something to do with it. And of course he had – but how had she guessed it? Or maybe she just considered him evil enough to do this.

For a moment only, he looked at Leonard – who looked barely like a Weasley, apart from his eyes – and so wanted to hold that baby and hold her, and he knew that he'd be lost, that he would not be able to send her away, maybe unable to keep quiet that he longed for her, if he didn't take drastic measures. He knew he was rude, he knew he hurt her and while that hurt himself, he did it for himself, and for her, and for the little one.

And she understood, in a way. She understood that he could not, would not, help her. He wanted to. He really did.

He wanted to hold her and tell her that now she could stop wondering how Weasley had died, that she could move on, that she could lay him, finally, to rest. That things were fine. That he was there for her, and would always be.

He wished. But he remained snarky. He remained cold. His face remained cold and impassive.

But suddenly, she looked up at him and her eyes were brimming with tears and he had to gather all his strength inside not to pull her into his arms and kiss her. "Good bye, Severus," she said and turned around quickly, towards his door again.

And he knew he should just let her go. Knew it was better for him, for his crippled heart to let her walk out of the door, to make her think that he did not care.

But he couldn't. No, he could.

He would have to.

And couldn't.

"Wait," he said just as she had her hand on the handle and she turned around again, looking surprised.

"Severus?" she asked, so hopeful now in her eyes. And he couldn't. This was killing him. He had not been himself since he had realised he was falling in love with her. He had let her too close already. He could not.

"Good bye," he said simply, knowing it was for the best.

"What?"

"I'll be leaving in a few days time," he explained – knowing he would have to.

"Why?" she looked at him like this again. The look that kept him up all night. With those lovely eyes.

"Because I will leave," he replied.

"Why? Are you going on holiday?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe? What kind of an answer is that?" she asked, shaking her head. "Are you going on holidays or are you leaving because you have to do something else somewhere else? You must know."

He shook his head. "I'm just leaving."

"Can I write you?" she asked, obviously accepting that he was just leaving – just going somewhere else. But writing him? No. He would have to be left alone. He would have to have no contact with her whatsoever. Why didn't the otherwise so smart witch understand this? Why couldn't she see that this was because of her?

"No," he found himself almost shouting. "Don't you understand?"

"I'm afraid I don't," she asked, surprised at his outburst, and he had not meant it. But she stood there, so beautiful and maybe the years without the Dark Lord had made him become lax when it came to controlling himself, or maybe it was because she was just there and it was horrible and wonderful to see her, or maybe he had had more to drink that he had thought.

"Then think about it, Hermione," he caught himself in time, just before he could say something stupid and with a flick of his wrist, his wand was in his hand and the door open.

"Are you throwing me out?" she asked, sounding very hurt now.

"Yes," he replied, closing his eyes – and, again, his control waning, or the effect of the firewhiskey taking over, he added, so softly that he knew she wouldn't hear him over the beginning cries of her son, "I can't see you any more."

He turned away from her then, made it clear for her to leave and he did not see the surprise, the confusion written over her face, and only heard her leave with her crying baby.

_**xx**_


	25. Dear Diary

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

_May 31st 2019_

I miss Ronald. And realising that Severus has left for real makes me miss him more. It is quite strange, really, that one man makes me miss the other more, but maybe it is because I have grown rather close to Severus, even though he has been away for such a long time, in his home. I don't know where he is and I miss him too. Minerva says she has a vague idea where he is but is under no circumstances allowed to tell me. I don't know why. I don't understand it at all. I don't understand what it was he was telling me – that he can't see me any more. I don't understand it and it's a horrible feeling to think that he left England because of me. Leonard has no male now, apart from Hugo and his uncles in his life and I truly wanted Severus to be a part of his upbringing.

I am still at Hogwarts, though I doubt I will stay much longer. Minerva barely has time for a talk, and Aleia has given up work there. Not that she answers any of my letters, she seems to be so busy being the new, pregnant Mrs Charlie Weasley.

xx

_June 14th 2019_

My beloved Hermione,

here I am, in Cairo, sitting in a small flat I rented from a weird little Egyptian Muggle, drinking water from the bottle, avoiding the sun (no mean feat) and casting cooling charm after cooling charm. I had not considered that it might be so hot here in July when I left in a hurry. It is so unusual that I do not think things through but I had to leave England. I had to go somewhere where you can't just drop by. Hermione, I left because of you, not because of my ex-wife. Don't you know it? Don't you know that you're the one I wanted to be with for so long? And you will never know now. You know, as well as I do, that I will never send this letter, that you will never receive it. I don't even know why I'm writing it at all. It's not me.

xx

_June 14th 2019_

I sold the house in Godric's Hollow. Both Rose and Hugo said that they don't want to live there any more but neither do they want to stay at Hogwarts. I already have bought a small cottage, large enough for the four of us, four bedrooms, in Kent. It's rather rural but Luna lives close. We will move in soon though I truly wish I had Severus's help with this. I miss him and the more time passes, I feel, I miss him more than Ron. It makes me feel guilty, naturally, since the void in our lives now that Ronald is gone is immense. He's missed everywhere and even though I'm a witch, I know that I won't stack things in topmost drawers or parts of cupboards. What's the use when I can't ask him to get this or that for me and he won't make fun of my size?

But Severus? I've known him for almost as long as I've known Ronald but never figured him out. The other night, I dreamt about him, back when he was unconscious from the snakebite. I never found out whether he knew I sat with him and it's not important. But looking back, I keep wondering what he would have said, what would have happened had he woken up with me holding his hand. Would we have gotten to know each other already back then? Would we have been friends then? For those few days that I spent by his side, I realise now, that I fancied myself having a crush on him. In retrospect, it was ridiculous. Me, barely older than a schoolgirl, and him, having lived more than his years implied. Having seen more than he should have. But then, so had we all.

I truly can't help but wonder since that dream. I think I could have fallen in love with Severus.

xx

_June 15th 2019_

What utter rubbish. I love Ron.

xx

_June 20th 2019_

We moved into our new house, which is still bare, mostly, only beds and a kettle. It is quite lovely and Rosie can't wait to go to Ikea with me. We decided that we would buy new furniture completely. I think it's a wise decision, make a new start, even though it has only been a little more than 6 months. But I asked the children and they agreed. I think they begin to cope living without their father, Rosie maybe better than Hugo and Leonard is just as happy and as whiny and as exhausting as any child can be. It is difficult for me though, to be the only one around him, and that there is nobody, apart from, once in a while, Molly and Arthur who can calm him. He can be quite fussy when he wants to be, always has been, but I remember that Severus managed to calm him as well. I wish he was here with his godchild, helping me. Maybe taking him off my hands for an hour or two. I can't even leave him with his grandparents. Molly is not as patient as she once was and I suppose she somehow resents the fact that Leonard, especially Leonard, does not look like Ron at all when most of her other grandchildren are Weasleys through and through. I can't change it and somehow, I think that I do not resent him looking more like my Uncle Albert than anyone, quite on the contrary.

xx

_August 4th 2019_

My beloved Hermione,

why do I even write that? I would never dare to write that in a letter I would send you at all. And yet, I found myself longing to write to you again. It is quite fortunate indeed, that I have no owl at my disposal and will more certainly not go to the public owl office in the Wizarding District of Cairo. It is more chaotic than anything I have ever seen before, not only the owl office but the entire district. The streets are lined with carts that sell things, and there is an entire alley dedicated to everything concerning Alchemy. It is quite fascinating, to be honest and I have acquired a few very interesting books which I know you'd like to read as well. I especially sought those that combined alchemy with potions and I found a tome which only elaborates on the combination of potions and ingredients with the proper cauldron and suggests a few things that I'm dying to try.

But Hermione, I miss you still. I'm not sure staying away is working. But I have to try still and I have to stop myself from writing stupid letters that nobody will believe I wrote anyhow.

xx

_August 9th 2019_

I love this cottage, I truly do. We have lush green all around and I could have a hedge grow especially quickly around our garden and transfigured the old, broken paddling pool into a decent sized swimming pool. It is a luxury, I'm quite aware of that but this summer is so hot and I can sometimes leave Leonard snoozing in his bed and can go for an early morning swim before the children wake up or after they go to bed. I wish we could have had that with Ron and I wonder why we didn't have the idea with the pool sooner. It truly brings me closer to Rose and Hugo and they have genuine fun out there. It's getting better every day for them but I can't help thinking what will happen when they're off to Hogwarts. Hugo's first year and Ronald's not there to see him off. It pains me.

xx

_September 1st 2019_

They're gone. The cottage is empty except for me and Leonard taking a nap. I'm not used to this silence. Ronald and me used to do such lovely things once the children were gone.

I miss him.

xx

_October 1st 2019_

Minerva,

I will return to teach after Christmas.

Severus Snape

xx

_October 11th 2019_

I keep wondering about Severus. I went to see Minerva earlier today and she had a letter from him, explaining that he would be home after Christmas and resume teaching at least for a term. I don't know where he was, I don't know what he was doing and I missed him. I missed talking to him and I miss seeing him at the Burrow since Molly started the monthly meals again. Charlie and Aleia were there only once so far. Their child will probably arrive around Christmas, I don't know since she barely met anyone's eyes and kept close to Charlie. Poor woman. I don't know, though, what's wrong with her that she doesn't talk to me. I've tried and reached out to her but she's inaccessible, almost, and doesn't reply to owls at all. Charlie says she's having a hard time with her pregnancy.

I've dreamt more about Severus than about Ronald. And I will see him and ask him what he meant that night before he went to wherever he is now. He can't see me any more. He probably thought I hadn't heard him because Leonard started crying. But I did and I don't know what to make of it.

Maybe I should take Leonard to Aleia, to let her have some practice and ask her what he could have meant. She was, after all, married to him for over ten years.

xx

_October 27th 2019_

It can't be.

xx

_October 28th 2019_

Aleia truly said that she suspected Severus to be in love with me and it seemed that she found her suspicions confirmed when I told her what he said to me. But it can't be.

She even said that she knew he did not love her and that his heart belonged to another. She said that was part of the reason why she and Charlie got together.

It can't be.

xx

_November 2nd 2019_

It positively can't be. Severus and me have been nothing but friends and before Ronald died, we weren't even good friends. He can't be in love with me.

But what if he is?

xx

_November 5th 2019_

I don't believe it.

xx

_November 15th 2019_

But the way he hugged me, I always wondered about that. It was as if he was around me. And when I got close to his home, after he left Hogwarts, he left. And when he came to his quarters at Hogwarts more often, he left too. Did he truly leave because of me? Because I was getting too close? Because he is in love with me?

Rubbish.

xx

_November 20th 2019_

The longer I think about it, the more I ponder it, the more I believe that I might...

No. He's not in love with me.

xx

_December 6th 2019_

Severus is coming back to England soon. I'll owl him. I will ask him. Or maybe do some digging. I'm confused but I dreamt about him again. Only, this time it wasn't that sort of dream. It was more of the kind I used to have about Ronald before we got together, or just after we've gotten together. It featured the pool outside prominently. And me. And him. And no children around. I'm a widow. Are widows supposed to have dreams like that about men that wasn't their husband?

xx

_December 18__th__ 2019_

Another one of those dreams. And they haunt me during the day too and I wonder whether it would be really like that with him. And my feelings confuse me. I haven't even seen him in the longest time. Is it true that absence make the heart grow fonder? Or the fact that he might be interested in me? Or the fact that it's over a year that Ronald is dead and I'm lonely?

xx

_December 31st 2019_

I'm glad the children are home and at the same time, I am apprehensive, scared almost, because I know that Severus will be back at Hogwarts when they go back to school. And I fell excited about seeing him.

Oh, this is not good.

_**xx**_


	26. The Beginning

_**The usual disclaimers apply. **_

_**xx**_

He let his fingers glide over the tomes he had just put back into their rightful shelves at Hogwarts. This was where those books belonged, and oddly enough, he felt that this was where he belonged. Those were his rooms – his alone – and they had their old feel back, the feel they had before he had made the mistake of marrying in the first place. No, truly, this was it. This was where he was supposed to be, and this was what he was supposed to be. Alone, in the dungeons, scaring students, collecting books.

He wasn't, by far, the only teacher at Hogwarts that would lead that sort of life, he wasn't the only one who was unmarried and unattached. Plenty of his colleagues were, and if he truly longed for company, he knew that he could always give unjustified detention to too many students and Minerva would be sweeping down to the dungeons to reprimand him. And that had usually led to a game of chess and a bottle of elf-made wine shared between them. That's the way he had been before he had married that woman and it would be that way again. At least he hoped so.

Egypt had done him good, he knew. He had brought a distance between himself and the rest of English Wizardkind. He had dabbled in alchemy – only a bit, mind – and had brewed, had read, had had discussions with Egyptian potioneers and alchemists, had even had sex with a busty French woman – Muggle – who had been on vacation and whom he had met at the Egyptian Museum on mere chance. It had been time – it had been impersonal, it had been good.

And he had been good – in the sense that he did not imagine that woman being Hermione. No. Hermione was off his mind completely. And nothing, absolutely nothing reminded him of her any more. He had even burned the two letters he had written in a drunken stupor. Hermione was most definitely off his mind.

xx

She had debated with herself. For days, or for weeks, she wasn't sure which. But she had made her decision, eventually, and oddly enough, her daughter had sort of helped. She had, compared to the last months, nothing, absolutely nothing to lose. And everything to gain. She would be smart about it, she had thought it through. Again and again and again.

And she had talked to Aleia again. Had asked her again. And that woman, close to exploding, due to being over her due date, had explained in all detail why she gathered that Severus was in love with her. And Aleia, a bit annoyed, had still humoured her. About him hugging her, about him looking at her that way, about him talking about her, and a million other little things she suspected, she had noticed.

But Aleia could be wrong. Or he had found himself a nice, quiet girl wherever he had been. Or Aleia had been right, and the time away had made him fall out of love with her.

Didn't matter, she knew, as she pulled on her prettiest robes after putting Leonard in his baby ones. She would see, she would pay attention, and she had a plan. Hermione had a plan and she was not a Gryffindor for nothing. She was ready to gamble. And no, she had nothing to lose at all.

xx

Severus put the cup and saucer on the arm of his chair and sighed deeply, contentedly, looking around. This was his living room. Full of books, full of the smell of English Breakfast with a little milk. The enchanted windows showing a magnificent view of the Lake.

He had unlaced his boots, had toed them off, had them laying discarded on the floor, and had pulled the footstool closer, rested his feet on them. It felt good, even though, he had to admit, it was a bit chilly. But then again, he was used to African climate, not Scottish winter – in the dungeons. He had made a fire and it crackled wonderfully. It was early afternoon but since it had snowed all day long (and all of yesterday when he had arrived late in the evening), it was rather dark out and the fire added to the new feeling of cosiness he had in those rooms. Cosiness he had not felt during all this time when his ex wife had lived there with him. The living room had always been so full with her there and he had noticed in Egypt, how much he had missed the quietness. And just having the peace, sitting down and reading a book in quiet without someone wanting to talk all the time.

He knew a few months ago, he would have given his right arm to discussing everything he read with Hermione, would have given his right arm to having that boy around in his quarters, maybe seeing him learning to crawl, or walk. But that had been a few months ago.

Now – he was content just sitting there, enjoying this next to last day before the students arrived again, reading. And he found himself actually looking forward to teaching again, looking forward to seeing students agonising over the tasks he set them – and up to their elbows in cauldrons during detention. He could not explain why, but he did.

He leant back, raised the cup up to his lips and took a sip of his strong tea, closing his eyes, when, a heartbeat later, there was a knock on his door.

And that was it with his peace.

xx

Rose and Hugo were with their grandparents at the Burrow. They'd stay the night, return to their cottage then, stay there for one night, then go back to Hogwarts. She knew it was a little selfish of her (not that the two of them didn't want to go to the Burrow, they did) but this was the day. This was when she would do it. The perfect day, and she could get into Hogwarts without any problems. Especially since she had told Minerva that she might come and visit her.

She smiled at her son, sitting on her hip, playing with the fastening of her robes, and he looked incredibly cute in his tiny baby-robes and the smile on his face, or the frown when the fastening didn't do what he wanted it to do. Like a young version of her Uncle Albert, honestly.

She took a deep breath when she stood in front of the door. That door. "This is it," she whispered to her baby, straightening his robes, then straightening her robes, in the last moment before the door opened and she knew. Without having to ask, she knew.

xx

He stood, and he wasn't sure whether his jaw dropped, or if he clenched it. She stood there, and everything came rushing back, every single feeling of longing and desperation at not being able to be with her. The need to wrap her in his arms – and the need to hold the baby. His godson, he had not forgotten, had grown so much and smiled at him. The boy, the little little boy smiled unassumingly at him, and suddenly, as if by magic, he raised his arms from around his mother's neck and towards him.

"Hello Severus," Hermione suddenly whispered. "May we come in?"

He felt himself nod and step aside and suddenly, the boy was in his arms. Severus had probably never been so dumbstruck in all his life. He had not even said hello yet.

"Hello," he said, and the child wrapped his little, chubby arms around his neck.

"How've you been?" she asked gently and pointed at her robes. "Do you mind? It is rather warm in here."

He shook his head and could not believe himself. He was like a love-struck teenager around her, suddenly. All those months away, all that time that he had thought he was over her, he had been wrong. One look at her, with her curls pulled back and up, her eyes shining and so obviously happy to see her, radiant, happy, looking at him, almost tenderly. She unclasped her robes and stood there, beautiful and it had not helped at all.

He groaned. Quietly, to himself but she had heard him and she smiled, so radiantly, so happily at him, and took a step towards him. "Do you mind if he crawled around a bit?"

He shook his head – had still not quite found his voice. And how could he? When she accidentally, brushed her hand over his chest and he only now realised that he was without shoes and without coat. Just a shirt and trousers and socks.

She took the baby from him, whispering something about goddaddy that he did not hear, then turned back at him.

"You got a little colour. Where were you?"

"Egypt," he muttered. "In Cairo."

"Oh, how lovely," she gushed. "Did you like it?"

"Hermione," he heard himself groan and she only smiled.

xx

It was crystal clear. And her own feelings, everything fell into place. In a heartbeat, everything seemed so clear and so easy.

She couldn't help asking question after question – she was nervous after all – and she definitely couldn't help herself brushing her hand over his lovely chest when she took Leonard from his arms to put him on the floor where he made his way straight to the first bookshelf. It was odd, really, to see that Severus quickly cast a charm on his shelves so no books could be pulled out and hurt the little one. She was incredibly touched by this, for some reason and she knew she stared at him a little sappily, and smiled just like that.

But he looked good. Far from tanned, but a healthy colour. And it was magnificent, seeing him like this, with the white shirt and in his dark blue socks. Who knew he wore dark blue socks?

"Hermione," he groaned suddenly and it was an agonised groan but his eyes were fixed on hers and so dark and full of – something. Feeling.

"Yes, Severus?" she asked sweetly but did not move farther away from him. He was within an arm's reach and that was where she wanted him to be.

"Why are you here?" he obviously pressed out, fighting his words.

xx

"I'm here to see you," she whispered and it surprised him – mildly. She usually had always come to see him because she needed him, or because she claimed that Leonard wanted to see him.

"Why?" he asked and her smile broadened even further, and she stepped closer to him. Oh this wasn't good. She shouldn't be so close. Shouldn't be so close at all. Her scent washed over him and he had to back away – and backed away until his back met a bookcase and he couldn't back away further and she had been following him, slowly.

It all happened, to him, in slow motion, when her hands suddenly came up to his neck and he wanted to push her away, wanted to run away himself – and found himself unable to move when her little, warm fingers stroked his neck ever so gently.

"I'm here to tell you," she whispered and suddenly, so suddenly, her lips were on his in a very, very chaste kiss. It made his eyes cross and it made him want to push her away again, or wrap her into his arms and kiss her senseless, or make love to her, or all but pushing her away. His breathing was fast and shallow and he couldn't allow this he looked anywhere but at her, didn't dare to and her hands, her fingers, still at his neck.

"I'm here to tell you " she hesitated a second time, and he felt his head moved downwards, until his eyes met hers and they shone so beautifully, stared into his, "that I'm very ready to be wooed by you."

_**xx**_

_**The End**_

_**xx**_


End file.
